I am inclined these days to look more into the past than future and to really dig details that would somewhat reclaim the steps I’ve made to get where I am today. It’s quite an interesting exercise that of digging through the sinuosities of what I like to call, a very selective memory. Remembering not the big things, not the holidays and the major events – but the unexpected sweet nothings that make our everything tremble. How that candy tasted. Or how you scraped your knee and blood tickled. Or how one Christmas morning you snuggled a stuffed animal and promised to always be there.
And I’ve always had this fear, of forgetting. And being forgotten.
And sometimes other people’s memories can be as endearing as our own.