All we really have are memories.

I have thought of this fact numerous

times, for it is both sobering and

despairing. Every ridicu-

lous material possession is

worthless in the scheme of life. Even

we ourselves are almost meaningless—

we will come to die eventual-

ly, and all that will remain are the

trail of broken hearts we leave behind

and the lingering memories of

us in the minds of those we were loved

by. Memories are all we really

have, even though they are entirely

too unreliable. Our minds sub-

consciously pick and choose what exact-

ly the memories that we dwell on

most should consist of. Memories can

be twisted and morphed; certain feelings

we felt at the time the memories

were made can be magnified or re-

duced. What I can never come to ful-

ly accept is that we don't even

remember most parts of our lives.