The crackle of an old tape makes for a clear memory,
a boy I haven't seen in a long time. He looks like me.
There is a terrible irony to see his thoughts through a screen,
hoping that there is some way to remember so hard that he hears me.

Rounding a corner - he walks in with a ghost, and the other causes the camera to crackle once more. They are all smiling. Still the remembering  must get harder, but it still doesn't work. He doesn't know they're ghosts.

The camera, the ghosts and the boy wander around a strange place, and they care for him greatly. He's too small to understand that they are ghosts because the memories are too strong a pillar to topple. He does not know he's alone in the hotel room. That will scare him.

He does not know he's alone,  no matter how hard I remember. The ghosts love him so dearly and he does not know. His bliss is not ignorance but youth. My remembrance can make him alone, but it cannot make him old. I did that.

My remembrance cannot change the ghosts, but he can see them from above the clouds.