So much of what we do is ephemeral and quickly forgotten, even by ourselves, so it's gratifying to have something you have done linger in people's memories.

Tears flow and smiles fade to the same rhythm of life, to disappear together in the bottomless abyss.

It was like trying to recall a forgotten dream—each time I felt close to remembering where we’d met, the memories slipped away.

True nostalgia is an ephemeral composition of disjointed memories.

You're forgiven."

I don't deserve her.

"But not forgotten," I whisper. She'll never forget what I did. It's not humanly possible. Sometimes I want the impossible.

Her expression doesn't change. "My head is undiscriminating with the memories it keeps, but my heart has already forgotten.

The richness of life lies in memories we have forgotten.