There's a book I once read.
About a man whose body became a diving bell.
Trapped and locked-in with only his blinking left eye to communicate with the world.
And so he became a collector - a collector of memories
The meals are always delicious if you get to choose the best ones you've had.
And so are the moments.
I'm not trapped, nor do I seek to be.
But I like his idea.
And so I keep a treasure box in my mind.
A place to store away those moments that I love
And bring them out to glitter in the sun when the need arises
A feast with friends
The light that falls upon the golden cross atop an altar.
A lake in England with the gentle rain pattering upon its surface the fog rolling in and mountains looming on the furthest shores.
The halo that the setting sun forms as it dances with her hair
The first time I heard Rachmaninoff's 2nd.
The love I feel for those whom I know and who know me.
I could go on.
But really, you should make your own.