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  • Non-Fiction

    Constant Recollections

    2 am the time of recollection, the time that every movement I make seems to be a reach for the cake that recalls Proust’s memories. This one too, it’s so easy, so much, so sporadic in the days of social media that it’s everywhere. Can there be so many bookmarks of memory, so many recalls, that the ones we see as a long dead set, loses its saturation? In the end, the memory becomes a form of grayish color rather than the splendor of blackness. It could also be argued that in the past we didn’t have the chance to…