I've been deadlocked in a battle of words with myself, cursing this feeling of being here but not having been there, and scratching my brain with mental fingers, digging for more to recall, digging for more than just what's close to the surface.
What I do have, I can hold in my hand, study intently for triggering clues, striving to write down what's barely there. I can hold it in my grasp, trying to absorb memories contained in images. But it is hard, not knowing if there's enough remembered to actually put down in words.
I have memories. But I fear, not enough. The missing is real. The missing is tough. Finality is even more so.