I love my thoughts and memories.
I love to carry them around with me like so many glass beads. Some of them are bright and colorful and clear, some are darker and heavier and not so easily seen through. Some like older memories, are cloudy and delicate.
Sometimes, when certain special moments become memories they are especially bright and shiny. These ones I tend to keep to my self for awhile; constently polishing them, holding them up to admire their colorful newness in the light.
When I open my hands to show you my beads, some will not be there. The cloudier ones you can not always see, but the darker heavier beads and the shiny newer beads will be hidden. Some are the special moments; the ones that I will save up for a slow or gloomy day to give myself a smile. Some are things that have not yet happened. These ones are magical. They have that power of change. So I keep them, hidden and to myself, so that no one can touch their magic.
I can not always control whether they change, but showing them can . . .
Or so I believe.