it is a very lucky thing to be able to clearly recall good days and fresh experiences, but what about somehow managing to physically live through an afternoon all over again? This time, there were cameras and lights, and I was a lot more at ease, but to be in the same room with the same clothes, talking to the same people saying the same words? Recollections and figments begin to blur; there is no other feeling but gratefulness, no other word but ‘surreal’. How can I keep these two sets of memories separate now?
retrospectif: a notebook 