Memory is fluid. Each time you access a memory, your brain changes as new connections are built and old connections either grow stronger or break away. I often try to imagine how many times I can access the same memory before the process of remembering begins to change it. How can I ever be sure time hasn’t colored the mind’s image warmer with nostalgia? The past has a tendency to feel like a better place from the comfortable distance of the present.
From my current standpoint, I question if there will come a time in the future where I am unable to recognize my own images and try to imagine what that might mean about my capability for accessing the memories associated with them. I am uncertain as to whether or not I can reconcile the inherent untruth of a picture with the failure of memory. I don’t really know if it even matters. The only thing that is certain is that as time moves forward, I can always turn my head back towards an unclear past: that of my own, those close to me, and those unknown.
