My memories are snapshots blurred, and perhaps faded. They are clear when you look at them from afar but look any closer and the details are lost. Haze. A camera in a haze, fighting the other senses smell, hearing, touch, for that one frame. Later, I may piece the frames together and string them along to some circumstance where it all makes sense. I was here when I remembered this and it was after this picture was taken here and- the memories are sorted into a small book and stacked with the rest of them, neatly, in the corner shelf of my mind.