I am not even going to begin to pretend I understand MEMORY. That awesome, fickle power that likes to ditch me as I step into another room (or as Billy Collins says in his poem Forgetfulness, retires “to a little fishing village where there are no phones”).
I don’t know why some things stick, like the thirty plus year old memories of being a kid trying to fry an egg on the summer sidewalk or dig a hole to China, as opposed to what happened in oh I don’t know, the entire year of 2009 (there had to be something significant, but right now I can’t think of anything).
Some memories stay locked up tight, while others eventually slip out of one of those dusty, creaky memory doors.
Nowadays when something does stay with me, I’m thinking there’s magic involved (or dessert–dessert can be quite memorable).
And I especially LOVE when I read a book with that kind of magic, that special something that manages to capture prime real estate in my brain.
Ever read an unforgettable story?
We wrapped our dreams in words and patterned the words so that they would live forever, unforgettable.”
― Neil Gaiman, Fragile Things