Today

When I walked from my apartment to the project space a woman passed me wearing a perfume I knew. I used it for a while a long time ago. Although I had to walk in another direction I followed her. I don’t know why. She was older than me and wore a red coat. She had a plastic bag in her hand. I tried to stop following her but I couldn’t. We walked through Cork for half an hour. She didn’t once stop to turn around and look at me. Maybe that was what I was waiting for.

If there’s one thing I remember of my former stay in Cork 16 years ago it’s the scent. It is still there, I smelled it yesterday evening. Turf. For a long time after my return from Cork I couldn’t stand the smell of it. Bad memories I guess.

I did a little bit of exploring yesterday. There wasn’t a lot I remembered. I was hoping my feet would find their way but they didn’t. There were moments I had to look at a specific location three times because I knew I had been there before but the new image apparently didn’t fit the old one. The lines got distorted. Smudged. Worn out. The colours had faded like an old photograph.

In Waterstones (I’m a book addict) I was surprised to find the book I wrote about earlier. There was a pretty small philosophy section but one of the books on the shelves was “The art of memory” by “Frances Yates”. It had been there for a while. Waiting for someone like me.