Eleven years old and I discover my memories slipping away like helium balloons freed from children's clutches.
Before, the memory of my marvelous misadventures seemed minor.
Now, the recollections of my eighth birthday are lost in an ever expanding universe.
I don't remember my cheeks flushed with pink as I squealed with excitement when it was time to cut the chocolate cake.
Or if we turned the indoor playground into our Jungle Book, racing through the canopy of trees like monkeys.
I don't remember when my classmate (what was his name?) crashed to the floor in our game of make believe.
Truth be told, I don't remember if I was eleven years old when I became aware of my memories disappearing.
Some point at sixteen, I try to document my memories as per suggestions by new friends.
I get to twelve days before I start to forget.
I think it was December when I stopped talking to them.
Later, we say hello again in the same place I left them, in an endless labyrinth of imaginary worlds with a virtual cafe to meet new people; my paradise until I was tempted away by new curiosities.
Back then, I'd performed the vanishing act, the final trick as the curtains close.
Two of the three ask questions: "are you okay?" "how have you been?".
I am reeled in, like a fish on a hook, to memory documentation once again.
This time, it lasts twenty days.
It surprises us all.
One month later, I try to tell the truth.
But I can't remember the details, they fly like birds when I get too close.
So when I try to recall the time I revealed my sadistic side—my daydreams are a sea of red—I can only give a quiet reply of "I don't remember".
Actually, this might be a lie.
After I turn twenty-one, I learn how to store memories in a jar.
Every night I label jars with dates, add them to the shelves in my room.
At times I will peer through the glass to see memories, they glow golden, like stars twinkling, when the sun sets and the moon rises.
Today, I find my jars shattered, countless years of memories lost.
Gone, just as I had vanished.
Glass crunches beneath my feet.
I can not remember who released them.
