If you could bottle up one memory into a jar so you could keep it forever, what would it be?
Some people might store an extravagant memory into a beautiful, stained glass jar- but only to look at and never to touch because it’s that precious. Maybe it’s their wedding day or their child’s first birthday or the first time they met the love of their life. They’d never open the jar, but if they did it would smell like rose perfume, chocolate cake , a crowded party. It’d sound like church bells, a birthday song, blaring music. Sometimes they’d wish they could open it but they know if they did, it would never be as special as the first time they lived it. Even so, they might long to feel the silk dress flowing down their body again, the smiles on their faces as their daughter blew out her candles, the vibrating of the floor beneath their feet. They’d store it in a place only they could see. Maybe on the bedside table? In their closet? They’d barely see the it throughout the day but if the light was right, they’d see the glint of the gleaming paint. They’d smile and remember and be grateful for this special, personal memory, only for themselves.
Or perhaps the jar would be wooden, rough on the edges. Not as polished as the first jar, but definitely more homely. Inside would be memories that are often overlooked-maybe not a monumental day but a special one no less. Walking home from a Christmas party with their friends, themselves at three years old, climbing a tree with their dad. Sitting on a rooftop building on new years eve that time they were sixteen. The jar’s opaque, so they can’t see what’s inside, but if they peered through the tiny hole near the bottom of it, they’d see snowflakes fluttering, their dads arms outstretched, red fireworks shooting across the sky. They’d remember laughing and spinning in circles, gloved hands entwined with another. They’d feel the trembling of their legs as they climbed that last branch, and the grip of their tiny fingers around bark. They’d remember looking out at the glittering city below and thinking how similar it looked to the sparks flying above them, and maybe they weren’t quite on top of the world but it sure felt like it. Sometimes they would twist the lid of the jar open slightly, just to get a better look. But they’d always make sure to screw it back on tight, so the memory could never escape.