Memory writes its name again and again in this new day’s ledger, not so much to remember itself but to remind me to remember. I relay that all my scribbled notes and writing journals continually remind me that while the past is absent in the flesh, its voice very much lingers. It entices and taunts, harmonizes and haunts. When memory reminds me of what is here and gone, its words fog the journeyed mirror that is my mind. So, dear reader, if my thoughts seem a bit unclear right now, this is perhaps one reason why.