The mist of memories

Sometimes, I see things in the mist of memories. Sometimes, the mist is thick, and moving.
Things come to me in the mist, like shadows, back lit, and forming from nothing.

The shadows move, as though someone is coming toward me, and just when it is about to fully come into being, it dissolves again, into a shadow, that floats by. Carried along with the wind.

The memories will come, and the memories will go. And all along the way and ways, moments will come to mind. Moments that may be the first laid bricks of whole memories, that you think mean so much to you.

It's the moments that make everything.
Sometimes they are the reasons memories are born. Sometimes they are the reasons memories carry a smile, or a tear.

The moments are feelings, expectations, reasons,
and anything else that carries you to the end of an experience. Sometimes the moment is everything. Sometimes the moment is the one thing we most dread.