Given infinite time, anything is possible to create; for creation is the act of assembling components, and components are finite. Memory is thus an act of creation; for to remember is to recall existing components. Things forgotten are not permenantly lost, but merely await the rediscovery of their order, confirmed by recognition. But even were time not unlimited, the mind is not perfect. Recognition fades.

I am fortunate for the memories that I have archived, scrawled, typed, in basement storage. Part of me feels that I can never die until the archive is complete. The other part of me feels that completion is only necessary so long as I am alive.