The Amnesia of Time
The film affected me more deeply than I had expected it to. As my companions discussed the implicit nature of many aspects narrated of their story, I reflected on my disturbed, but decidedly calm, reaction.
I understood the frustrations of a man, crippled by his inability to touch an audience with his talents, burdened by the heaviness of a life he wished he could leave behind.
I understood the allure of a woman, whose planned appearances piqued his loins even though she shows no interest in anything of him except for his ability to appease her loneliness, if only for a while. She brings along no baggage and relieves him of his reality, which only fuels his passion.
Words, once lost to the winds, flows between him and her. Words she couldn’t care less about nor understood. Words someone else craves.
Was it a show of strength that I stayed and fought for who I loved, or should I have left the moment he decided to forget that he loved me?
Perhaps it’s unimportant now. Perhaps it will haunt me forever.