CURA.

Vapor

Do it for the story,
My childhood friend Mia always said.

She changed her names and her hair colors,
And swapped her friend groups like the seasons.
She fueled rumors further if they came her way.
Each moment was an opportunity to elaborate a pipe dream;
A different destiny.

Gossip was rendered as facts, and history as hearsay.
News became pungent myths,
Unlicensed vestiges
Images were proofs of always disputable facts.

Through that she created her world
One comprised of dramatized souvenirs,
Literally, “occurrences to the mind.”
Each object a chance to contain a different time and space.
Trinkets from other realities whose provenance were all but lost.

I, like Mia, am very rich with artifacts, and I collect them, obsessively.
Miniatures, gadgets, religious figurines
Marking unhappened weddings in other countries.
The point is not their veracity but their presence

I like them as concretized memories even if they increasingly mystify me.
Every time I touch them,
Or listen to their stories
I lose my way
in a vapor of relics.

I should like to end my days surrounded by my things,
As a collector of narrative.
Perhaps, when strangers find me,
Stories will flow from their cracked veneers.

—Jeppe Ugelvig, 2023