I am such a sucker for moments. 
I’ve heard people say that life is what happens between expectations and moments we look forward to, and I tend to disagree. Life may be every second of every day that we live, but moments are the reason for life. 
I cherish memories – hold onto them as a little kid does their teddy bear; replay them over and over in my head trying to catch new unseen details every time. Savor them and save them, in every shape and form, ready to be revisited at will. I hold those moments closest to my heart because memories aren’t just the synapses in the brain – they’re the lingering scents and the trace of emotion and the memory of the touch. 

Many find unhappiness in the fact that nothing lasts forever, yet I find comfort in the universe’s tendency to expand and be messy. Forever can last for only a moment and yet feel as infinite as the universe itself. Time is an illusion, created by men for comfort, and so deeply engraved in our thoughts and actions that it feels hard to not be a slave of the clock. Maybe that’s why I love my moments. Maybe because the time is limited and yet, since I can keep them with me forever, memories feel infinite. They can never change, and they can never be taken away. Moments will always go to infinity and beyond because there and then, the boundaries of time do not matter. Those numbers don’t exist. And that’s what life should be like – an endless flow of faces and colors and shapes, not the circle around 1 through 12. 

Reminiscing constantly, to me, is bliss rather than nostalgia. So I will keep making memories for as long as I live, letting them run free as they build the core of who I am and what I am doing here. Being thankful that they happened and never, ever sad that they are over. 

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