I am a very visual person, appearances matter immensely, my impressions are captured, formed, imprinted most exactly, and once fixed almost impossible to deflect or redirect. A photographic memory is a curse in this context, by the simple process of just shutting my eyes I can recall unless wonders, beauties, moments in times seeming unbelievable, unrepeatable, but forever impressed upon the endless cortex of mine most treasured recollections.
There is less opportunity these days for creating new memories, but perhaps that is not bad thing, for the volume of stored information must be rising to the very top of the filing cabinet and must come a time when every now addition overwrites an existing record. I am not yet ready to lose anything, for all the moments are closely intertwined, connected one to another, a chain of continuity that explains, illustrates a life not unpleasantly of foolishly spent.
Does seem impossibly sad that eventually is all must vanish, erased with one violent wipe of the great backboard duster we all await.