I remember nothing. Everything. You, time, events, my views, what we wore and when. She sent me a picture the other day, Thursday perhaps, ironically I cannot recall the day. It was us, frozen in a moment, in a space forever there if we remember it, a corner in the framework of my, your, our time. The sun was up and drawing out sweat and smiles from our ready bodies, if I try I might even feel it again. Or rather, I will feel my remembering of it.
Memory, like photography, captures something, but there is a lens, a layer, a distance between my memory and that moment. I remember everything.
