I am honestly afraid of memories that are only mine. I don’t trust my mind to remember, and I could never possibly scrapbook every meaningful thing that’s ever happened. I can barely remember anything from last week — how the hell can I expect to remember, years from now, decades from now, the inside jokes I had with my brother or the funny things Zoey or Danny once said? I won’t. I could scrapbook 24 hours a day and never catch it all. Having my brother gone breaks my heart, but scares me too, because that means it’s up to me to remember as much as I can… or else it might as well never have happened.

And since I know I won’t — already can’t — remember everything I wish I could, does that mean those things never really happened, or don’t matter?

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