Memories are often daunting, to say the least. I sometimes find myself staring into nowhere re-living a childhood or teenage memory only to find myself smiling at my own ability to recall after all these years. Sure, there may be some dust on the memory but then life isn’t always lint free is it? The memories I like most are the ones I question to be real or made up in my ever so slightly disorganized thoughts. It’s those memories I find myself thinking about as I put pen to paper. Once I've finished composing a piece I re-read it, re-live it, and store it away in the memory bank.