Forget me not

What would life be like if we had no memory? What if we had no memory of people or events? Instead, our entire existence would be the sum of our immediate sensory perception. I wonder if we would we be happier or sadder. Every scar and bruise would be a mystery, and every person would be a stranger. (Heaven for an extrovert, hell for an introvert.)

We would have no memories of pain. But we would also have no memories of joy.

It's strange. The more distant a memory is in my mind, the softer it becomes. Kind of like a photograph that was once crisp and clear, and later fades, curls and blurs with time. It almost seems like part of a dream, or part of a novel you once read years ago.

Other memories are visited more often, with the most salient and pleasurable elements specially preserved, if not magnified. That BBQ at the park with the old college friends. The grill smelled smokier, the boxed wine tasted sweeter, and the cool grass prickled your toes just a bit more in your memory than it might have in reality.

It's your memory, though. You can do what you want with it.

Right?

I think about the people who are no longer in my life. They loiter in the back of my mind and reappear at particular moments in time, like when I'm waiting in line or when I see an oddity that reminds me of them. They reenact scenes or conversations I had with them and then, when their performance ends, they bow and exit stage left.

Then I wonder. Am I a memory in someone else's mind? The raven-haired girl who wanders into someone's dream, recites a bitter or sweet line, and leaves the room? Does my appearance onstage conjure joy, sadness, rage, or pity? Or am I not even in the cast?

I wonder if it is better to be remembered or forgotten. When I reflect upon my life, I think I'd rather be forgotten by those in the past, and remembered by those in the present.