Moments in time when the world is changing bring out the best and the worst in people.
Time is eating away my memory. Time, and this illness, this trespasser in my brain.
Memory is like patches of sunlight in an overcast valley, shifting with the movement of the clouds. Now and then the light will fall on a particular point in time, illuminating it for a moment before the wind seals up the gap, and the world is in shadows again.
Die while I can still remember who I am, who I used to be.
The palest ink will endure beyond the memories of man
A raintree bent towards a window in one side of the bungalow, eavesdropping on the conversations that had taken place inside over years.