I've learnt that no matter how hard you try to hold on to a memory, a time and feeling, it slips through your fingers into this fuzzy abstraction; a memory of a memory. It seems too, that thinking about it sucks that much more life out of it, leaving it even harder to recapture the next time around. It's as if trying to remember the details make it apparent how much you've forgotten, how much the shifty neurons in your brain have robbed you. I've learnt not to wear out the few good memories I have left.