My life is becoming memories. It’s a slow process but it’s happening. This doesn’t mean that I often mistake a distorted or exaggerated memory for a life-reality. For example, late at night the air is cooler, moister and the fragrance is different from daytime. I used to revel in this atmosphere. I still inhale it, know it, but often it’s the memory of the fragrance that I enjoy rather than that of my immediate surroundings. There is a lack of sense, both olfactory and visual that memories replace.
