Holy ghosts

How can it be, that some moments remain imprinted in the mind, just as if they were carved, or engraved, or pinched in like a bamboo-tattoo. That one persons mere existance can send shiwers down ones spine, tear up a wound in our heart and still leave drops of honey along the way. And how can it be, that it's some specific, chosen people that have the solemn right to leave that imprint, or lets use the word scar, on us. And that we rarely choose these people ourselves.
Still, they snatch us out of our context and give us room for unwanted reflection. Their words weigh heavily, from sentence to syllable- they bring us up, and then they let us go. In the end, the memory is what we cling to and focus on. And the most surprising part is that despite the pain it seems so well worth that we would do it all over again if we had the chance.