---
layout:	post
title:	"Clawmarks on my memories"
date:	2018-07-08
---

  ![](/img/1*QiRpt7tqra3moEbFQwtsnA.jpeg)Photo by [Andy Tootell](https://unsplash.com/photos/oRhhb0f2Kic?utm_source=unsplash&utm_medium=referral&utm_content=creditCopyText) on [Unsplash](https://unsplash.com/search/photos/scratch?utm_source=unsplash&utm_medium=referral&utm_content=creditCopyText)One of the reasons I’m so *damn* good at living for the present is that I can’t remember the past.

The instant a moment is gone it blurs, out of focus. Then it fades into the blackness. I can’t remember the mundane — what I had for lunch the other day, what movies I watched last week. Nor can I remember the special — the first kiss, the last heartbreak. It’s all gone.

Faded out.

I love it, and I *hate* it. I hate it, and I *love* it.

It’s true that I can never be satisfied [without adrenaline](https://medium.com/frenetic-scribblings/chasing-the-edge-b473b3efd3e2). But that isn’t the whole picture. Satisfaction is underpinned by *memory*. I cannot be satisfied in what I have done when I cannot remember it.

I am cursed to wander — to always chase more. Adrenaline, and everything else. I cannot learn from a past that is no longer mine. I cannot remember fondly a laugh shared. I cannot relive the pain of a past heartbreak.

I cannot remember.

No matter how hard I try to hold, the memories always slip away. No matter how fiercely I claw. I have to live for the here and now, because otherwise I ain’t got shit.

I cannot remember.

I love it.

*I hate it.*