Last night I went to bed only to get right back up. My future self, nostalgic and silver, begged to unravel the details of you. One day you will seek and inquire about all the lovely, and maybe not so lovely, parts of yourself. You will want to understand me more to understand yourself, just the same. So I've been the most faithful documenter. But my stock pile of “never ever forgets,” dwindle and dissipate with each rotation around the sun. My youthful ambition is no longer willful or sharp enough to access the memories I promised to remember forever.
Maybe I could let go, drop my pen and rest my lens, if only the stakes weren’t so high. But it’s not just my own memories begging to be kept alive. It’s you, here and now. It’s this precious time and space where the world really is as wonderful as you think it is. It’s the memories of your childhood that will answer the questions you have not yet asked. My reflections and stories, my heart spilled over onto pages, it’s the closest tangible thing I will ever get to forever.
Before I knew you, forever was an immeasurable, fancy free, day dream. Now it is measured backwards in double time, as if to make up for my once immortal, youthful pride. It feels more like a pipe dream and toys with my heart as I lay you down to sleep. I lay you down, but I cannot rest. I am not restored by a still, quiet nest but instead the instinctual art of pen to paper, the preservation of your fleeting youth, our sacred mundane. I am your humbled memory keeper, with a heart as true as yours. This is my gift, this is my forever.