Through the memory lane.
Yesterday, my heart asked my brain, "What's your first memory?"
Although seemingly random and abstract, the question invoked unfathomable curiosity in me, and I began to ponder the idea at length. It occurred to me that my first memory, ever, in which I can remember myself making concious decisions was the one when I was in preschool.
There were tire tracks on the dried mud on the school ground from somebody's terrible attempt at turning a car. I walked along the tracks, side by side with my partner in crime, neither of us with the slightest care about the sun that blazed above. Departing and then rejoining, we laughed all afternoon at our whimsical pleasures.
Yesterday, my heart asked my brain, "What's your first memory?"
Although seemingly random and abstract, the question invoked unfathomable curiosity in me, and I began to ponder the idea at length. It occurred to me that my first memory, ever, in which I can remember myself making concious decisions was the one when I was in preschool.
There were tire tracks on the dried mud on the school ground from somebody's terrible attempt at turning a car. I walked along the tracks, side by side with my partner in crime, neither of us with the slightest care about the sun that blazed above. Departing and then rejoining, we laughed all afternoon at our whimsical pleasures.
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