We went to Delphi. Climbed up to the Oracle to have her divine our futures. ‘This is it!’ she cried. ‘This is where the magic happened!’ Didn’t see that one coming! Then we hiked through the ruins, posed beside the fallen statues, took off our shoes and ran on the burning sands of the stadium. ‘My hair’s blowin’ in the wind,’ flowing streaming out behind, flickering, a flame in the sun, streaking along the floor of the arena. Then we walked the streets and steep staircases of the village, clinging there to the slopes. Stayed up all night, drinking red wine and ouzo. Stayed up all night, just to watch the sun rise. To watch the rosy fingers of dawn, creeping between the mountains. And as the mist spilled into the valley below us she fell asleep on my shoulder. Or did I fall asleep on hers? We woke and went south. Traded mountains and oracles for islands and sea.
Or maybe that never happened. Let’s trade on the things I’ve actually done. Not just re-imagined versions of what really happened. That’s one of our perks though isn’t it? The ability to re-imagine the past? To colour it, tint it, however we wish. That’s what we love about a storyteller. The ability to embellish. To tell it in such a way that even our boring lives sound exciting. Can you believe I did that? That was me! Or maybe it wasn’t. But I remember it just like that! Like it was yesterday. Yesterday or a lifetime ago. Same difference. Yesterday was the lifetime of a mayfly ago. A day in the life. A life in the day. The bright spark of existence. No time for regrets! One and done. Bam! No waking up tomorrow. Tomorrow? What’s that? You wanna talk Whorfianism? Try explaining the concept of tomorrow to a mayfly! You think they can conceive of that?!
Better luck next life.