The Memory Fades

She began to lose the memories she’d carried all her life as she approached 80. The wonder of it was, without all those painful traumas rattling around in her head, a more joyful younger self came to the fore. She was more open, able to laugh more often, and free with her affection. I was so glad I was able to be with her during those last years.

Please leave a comment with your first 50 words on the topic “the memory fades.”


Author: Virginia DeBolt

Writer and teacher who writes blogs about web education, writing practice, and pop culture.

5 thoughts on “The Memory Fades”

  1. As soon as it came, the memory fades: the familiar, the eyes, the clever scar hidden beneath the stubble of his jawline. His eyes, those eyes, blazing into her own–azure into green, they slip, swooping quickly from the forefront, and the familiar ache returns. Like the blue jay, pausing momentarily to squawk, demanding attention, he flits away from her, always a fingertip, a heartbeat, a flutter away.

  2. Angelia sat in her mahogany rocker and looked out the window. She admired the crimson red leaves of the Japanese maple that was planted to the left of the driveway, It was a splendid sight as it showed off its autumn foliage. Soon all this beauty will fade since its leaves will fall off and disintegrate into the surrounding soil or be carried away by the winter wind.

    She thought of Michael and images of more happy times inn his company invaded her thoughts. She had never seen him again after their last encounter thirty years ago, and now she closed her eyes and tried picturing his face, but the memory fades. It was akin to her Japanese maple loosing its leaves every year, never able to regrow the same ones ever again.

  3. She stretched out her hand to shake his. Their eyes met. His grip tightened. Yes, he remembers me. The girl he dumped right smack in the middle of the graduation ball. In front of everyone. She had cried all night…..certain that the humiliation would kill her. Mercifully, ten years had faded the memory. She could stare him straight in the eyes without flinching.

  4. The house must have been torn down by now. The memories too,have begun fading with the years.The front gate led to a path in the centre of the lawn. For the life of me, I can’t remember if it was a dirt track or cobbled.The door was painted blue or green? How ageing messes up with your mind!! Softened edges, blurred pictures and they say, time is a great healer. Perhaps, but it is a sculptor of faces and the weathering agent for all the agony and torment of past years too. O for the bliss of blankness!!

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