I don’t want to write down every detail of my day, of my life. I don’t want a picture of every breakfast, every morning view. In order to remember, don’t you have to experience first? And even if your memory doesn’t have the colors of a photograph, isn’t it worth something, a lot of somethings, to know that in this moment, I was here.
I was here and nowhere else.
Even though I won’t be able to tell my grandchildren what I thought today, I can teach them that presence is worth more than a million yesterdays and a thousand tomorrows. Because today, in these moments, I have lived. Today I have lived outside of time and memory.
I live with each breath, and in this place outside of time and memory, my thoughts come rushing in like moths to a light.