We create them, we relive them, we preserve them, we cherish them.
We talk about memories like they’re something within our control.

But most of the time they are very unreliable.
I read somewhere that we don’t really recall a true memory, but merely our brain’s interpretation of remembering that memory.

Sorry to mind bend.
But I’m just feeling a little melancholy about a coffee joint closing down.

It never meant much to me, until I started bringing my daughter here for the last year.
Now it hit me, what I thought was a dispensable place, is now gone.

And I’m not sure if I’m mourning over the shop, or merely the first year of my daughter’s childhood.
Or even my own mortality.

Anyway, that’s what (good) photos are for.

Memories only become important when you notice the present is in the rear view mirror.