Try to remember a moment from when you were young. What did it feel like then? How does it feel now? Can you describe it?
Can you pinpoint a place or are we back where we started?
The echoes of my memory fade and swell over time; they tell a story that I want to recall. I can remember the taste, but I can’t quite taste it.
These are closer to memories of a memory,
like the pages of so many photo albums that were never made. Like the reflections of a world that I thought were real. I can remember the sound, but I can’t quite hear it
