Memories are like drops of water,
Each spherical and underestimated.
A single drop of water
Holds life for a potted plant.
Many drops of water
And the plant flourishes.
Too much water
And the plant wilts as if parched.

People try to hide them and push them away,
But they only surge back stronger than before.
People travel long distances on vacations
Just for memories.
People think they capture them
On cameras and bits of written works.
People buy memories
At souvenir shops.

People are like the potted plant
With too much water in its circulation.
They look wilted and hungry for more
But in truth they have too much
And can enjoy what they have
If they only knew how.

A lizard on a boulder,
A shard of glass, sharp and painful
Sparkling in the sun,
The laughter of a child when nothing is apparently funny,
The chance sighting of a possum,
Five more minutes in bed,
The sweet coolness of water mingled with face soap,
A small footprint in the mud.

These are the memoires we drink.
We need not vacations
Or souvenirs
Or pictures
Or letters,
Although these things are nice.
We drink the memories of the things we love,
And the physical things
Are just placed on a shelf to collect dust
Or shut up in a dark cabinet
Or put on display for other people
To forge memories off of them.

But to notice the small things,
That is a true memory.