Time creates and destroys the moments that make up our lives. Everything begins to fade the very instant it appears. Sometimes we remember, but our memory is leaky and unreliable. All we can do is to capture some of the magic in a more persistent form. Like words or pictures.

I cannot keep it all, but I can choose. Every choice tells me where and who I was. Every word, every picture tells me a story.

It is human to share stories. They convey how we see the world, or how we would like the world to be. They help us to remember. They help us to dream.

This is part of my story.

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