All I manage to catch are glimpses. Peepholes through time and space.
Small ravels of memories I had before this time, before this space. I try to catch them, but they’re always out of grasp.
Like the light that filters through the rustling leaves of the tree. Appearing and disappearing without a moments notice.

I go towards these memories, hoping to achieve them, but I’m always pulled back down to the memories I possess now, that stretch over the ones before, and I forget. I forget who I am, and I remember who I am not.