When I look into the past, fragments of memory appear to me always as if
obscured by a veil of dust. Put together, these fragments form a long
gray river winding through my mind.
Each of us floats in our own river of memory, carried
forward by the current of time yet clinging to the fragments that we do
not want to let go. The endless flow in which we are entangled witnesses
the fragments being broken up, rearranged, and merged again. Some of
them are slapped ashore and left behind; some are smashed into droplets
and blend into others. Thus, the river keeps changing while we keep
moving forward.