#of memories

[touhoutunes]

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Title: Tutelary

Arrangement: Syrufit

Vocals: mican*

Album: of memories

Circle: Alstroemeria Records

Original: Angel's Legend

[purrfect-ts]

The pink hair ?!! Could is it a clue to look at this song ? (Probably a long shot I know) but look she mentions a kaleidoscope of memories in her intro speech ?!!!!

Feels very nostalgic, a kaleidoscope is beautiful and full of colours so maybe she’s referring to lookin back at all her memories?!

@taylorswift @taylornation

[drifting-songbird]

my mind is. not all there. It’s one of those days where it feels torn apart by memories I’m not sure are even mine, memories that are fleeting and just out of reach like wisps of fog, memories I’m not sure even happened at all. They feel as real as words on a page, as real as the songs the bards sing and the stories a narrator tells. Not a writer. Not a creator. A bard. A narrator. Second-hand memories, passed down from something that almost no longer exists. But what else are they, if not mine? Perhaps time has made them unrecognizable. I’ve never been good with time anyway.

[drifting-songbird]

The yearning and homesickness is strong today. Something about the mention of sleeping in a ship at sea, drinking and existing together with friends as we laugh and sing and reminisce, watching the stars at night, fishing. It was just an off-hand thought that someone had, not in so many details, but the entirety of it just hit me with a sudden wave of nostalgia it almost hurts.

I miss Beidou. I miss the Crux crew. I miss being with them, sailing across the sea, travelling. I hope to one day have that feeling again, to have friends with whom I can experience the world and share these memories.

[drifting-songbird]

it’s always dark in the attic. dark, and dusty, the air stale and almost suffocating. there is little to no life here, no sense of disturbance, so still it feels a bit like stepping into an old, abandoned painting. even the curtains are closed, warding away the sunlight from finding this room through the cracks of a window.

they almost don’t want to disturb it. will they be ruined by what they find, or will they ruin it?

there are boxes scattered around the room, some open, some closed. the closed ones they don’t dare touch, for this already feels too much of an intrusion, but the open ones, the open ones—

it is less curiosity that draws them towards it, this whole scene, and more like a sense of sudden urgency, of familiarity on the tip of their tongue like déjà vu. and so they drift towards a shelf holding a little brown box. innocuous. tempting.

pleading.

their hands do not shake as they reach inside, but their heart beats like it’s just started beating, started living. they can feel the worn, tattered photographs in their hands, the crumpled sheets of paper as they gently crease them out on their lap to read the faded words written across the pages.

it is an introduction. it is a reunion. it is stitching together the missing pieces into a tapestry that will always be added onto, that may always be incomplete. it is realising what you were, who you were, and what and who you are now. it is everything.

it doesn’t change anything.

they look and look and look, and it doesn’t change a single thing. deep down they have always known this, and this knowledge has sat with them in the back of their mind since before they've even taken their first breath into this world. they just haven’t acknowledged it yet. maybe they refused to, for a time.

it’s me. it has always been me. this attic is me. these boxes are me. these papers and photographs are me.

me.

it doesn’t change anything.

[guideaus]

trying to clean out my pictures folder and im trying so hard nto to comment again on every pic there

[panda--palace18]