The people I have great memories of and the people who have great memories of me might be totally different.
Whenever I see her in some shirts, I always thinks about where they came from - merch stands shoulder-to-shoulder with me trying to barter, or that day when we cut up and systematically bleached three tshirts. I remember that, and see her walking past me ignoraning me, and it hurts. Is that what she thinks, or has she forgotten all backstory, just sees them as cute tops?
When I stress out my dad and he tries to guilt-trip me into being good by listing all the stuff he does for me, all I can ever remember are the bad times, like when he was more interesting in the paper I drew on that what I'd drawn, or when he hit me for reading in the bathroom.
I guess memories are something that are totally transient: there one moment, and lost the next in a flutter of something new and shiny to replace the old grey stuff.
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