The interesting thing about saving moments of our own is that we look at the photo or video or read the words or hear the song we created or the walk we took or the love we made or the basket we wove or the dance that came careening out of us, and we taste that time from our past.
We realize perhaps how unfathomably intense or sad or hopeful or happy or grief-stricken or bored or satiated or lost or solid or grateful we felt.
And we learn once again that it all comes and goes, over and over again, save the deep certain inexorable self.
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