Die while I can still remember who I am, who I used to be.
For what is a person without memories? A ghost, trapped between worlds, without an identity, with no future, no past.
Time is eating away my memory. Time, and this illness, this trespasser in my brain.
The palest ink will endure beyond the memories of man
Accept that there are things in this world we can never explain and life will be understandable. That is the irony of life. It is also the beauty of it.
To have memories, happy or sorrowful, is a blessing, for it shows we have lived our lives without reservation.