I used to think memories floated in pools in my mind; giant think tanks, if you will. Each person would get a pool, each place, each song. The water would flow between the pools, depending on the different interconnections. I used to think there was an endless supply of these pools of water, of space. It seems the older I get, the less space there is, the less I remember, the less I want to remember. I start to decide who gets a pool and who gets a puddle, a tub, a sink. Slowly I differentiate between what should be remembered and what doesn’t really matter. I used to think it all mattered, and I can’t figure out when it changed. Forgetful, absent-minded, and neurotic I have always been…but I’ve always had my memories. They always were clear, crisp, strangely accurate. Now I have muddy puddles, frozen pools, draining bath tubs, and cracked sinks.

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