Memories seem to me, to be like pieces of driftwood. They have been cast off into the ocean at a certain point in time. They have been swirled through all the storms, and have floated peacefully through every peaceful lull. And then they just appear one day along the shoreline of our thoughts, as we stroll along in our day-to-day with our deep thoughts and curiosities. These memories emerge, half buried in the sands, and they seem so smooth, so perfect in their twisted form. They appear almost polished by the years of time that have washed over them. These pieces are so precious, so fragile. We should always take the time to walk along the dune line and gather each and every piece of timeless treasure that washes our way. We should gather our memories and frame a picture, or perhaps, a mirror, to truly look and see ourselves surrounded by our most precious treasures, our memories.
