"Be clearly aware of the stars and infinity on high; then life seems almost enchanted after all." ~Vincent Van Gogh
People think that these memories that you return to over and over are like coins. Ancient coins of gold and silver that wear away and wear away beneath your caressing fingers, eventually disappearing with the passing of time.
But I do not think that these memories are coins. I do not feel them withering away. I think that they are more like a piece of sand in the mouth of an oyster, gaining laquer and luster each time that I return to them.
And maybe they are different than they were before--the only truth remaining at the center in that little piece of grit, but I have made them into artwork in my mind, all the colors brighter and the senses happier. I have made them into a place of retreat, a lovely sanctuary of memory and fantasy and I can live with not remembering the truth.