Do you ever think about how we never fully appreciate a moment until it’s gone? We look back on the past, at moments that may have been melancholy or pulsing with hatred, and we smile (albeit wryly). Sometimes we look back in nostalgia, but either way our memory is embellished, embroidered on the edges like an intricately adorned quilt, changed from a few patches of fabric to delicately sewn artworks. When we first experienced the event, they were just squares of cloth that weren’t particularly special – but after a while, they became so. Even when we appreciate the moment, it’s bittersweet. We know that the time will pass, and though we’re still in the moment, we’re aware it won’t last.
Over time, the colours fade and disappear, and the fragile embroidery is all that is left of the original pattern. I know that so many of the memories I have today will fade and that it is an inevitable part of life, but sometimes I still can’t help from wishing that they wouldn’t: hoping that the colours would stay forever bright, and the quilt would never be tucked into a box in the attic and forgotten; that it wouldn’t be found faded and moth-eaten, years later while looking for mementos to show around, but instead stay in use, something to decorate a room and a reminder of a different time.