Toni Morrison's comparison of water's memory to a writer's memory caused me to look back in my own life and ask, "What do I see in my past worth recalling on paper?" I see only the product of an efficient shredder; disjointed bits and that spell nothing memorable.
Would that I had been given such a gift of memory. Every life is rich with experience--passing time has that effect--but much of mine is lost in a foggy dusk.
I long to express myself with words, vibrant and precise. What am I to express, however, but thoughts birthed only today?
Yet I write transient bits and pieces out of compulsion, because writing is what I do.