Clawmarks on my memories
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One of the reasons I’m so damn good at living for the present is that I can’t remember the past.
The instant a moment is gone it blurs, out of focus. Then it fades into the blackness. I can’t remember the mundane — what I had for lunch the other day, what movies I watched last week. Nor can I remember the special — the first kiss, the last heartbreak. It’s all gone.