It’s New Years…

by thecloudforest

It’s New Years Eve, and every time I go upstairs and walk past my parents’ darkened bedroom I can hear my mom call out to me, asking me to bring her a water bottle on my way up again. The autonomy of memory astounds me. At first you don’t think you will be able to remember anything, then you turn a corner and see that the place has done the remembering for you.