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Bridges To Yesterday What a bleak and bitter winter morning. Once there was a time when I could hear the sound of birds singing
and feel the warmth of the sun washing over this room. Today,
though, there is only cold and dark and bittersweet memories of days
long passed. Memories can be as whimsical and as useless as a shadow dancing on a placid, twilight bay but are as essential and as necessary as the air we breathe. Memories are eternal ethereal enigmas - we all have them, we all know there are there, but memories remain as intangible as a distant rainbow. Memories are the only link we have to what we used to be.
Our memories make us who we are. We are, in the final analysis, only
the sum total of our memories.
Without them we would not be who were are. Memories are bridges to yesterday; they are the
only passage back
across the river of time. We cannot measure such ethereal things. We cannot measure
the accuracy of our own memories. Indeed, all we know about the
event we remember is how we remember them. While I'm sure nothing I remember is
the way it really was it is the only bridge I have to yesterday. Memories are all we have; memories are
all we are. Without them we have no yesterday, we have no past; and
withoutt a past we would have no future - all we would have would be
the moment we are in-no bridges to yesterday, no road to tomorrow,
we would only exist in the fleeting moments of the present.
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