I can’t remember warm, bright days with the beauty of the sun blinding my big dark hazel eyes and beating down on my dark hair and pale skin. I can’t remember prying the soft lifeless but clean moles that were then sadly punctured from my kitty’s mouth, whose teeth were so sharp, but I know I had once done that. I can’t remember the big, tall, misted city I once grew up in or how that fresh Seattle rain smells, especially when just fresh and still very visible on radiant grass. I can’t remember what my small cold childhood bathroom looked like or the outside patio that looked over a beautiful shining lake. I can’t remember the brightly colored, enjoyable smelling flowers I had planted in my beautiful big garden I had once frolicked through with such joy…so I am told. I can’t remember my mother comforting me when I was afraid, softly singing and rocking me in the old red wood rocking chair that we still have, though I hear stories of how I fell asleep in her arms numerous times while being with her, resting face down on her soft warm body. I can’t remember actually going out and searching for the Easter Eggs, but I remember watching my parents plan on where to hide them, whispering madly and happily from my closet window. I can’t remember the campus of my elementary school or the playground where I spent so much time or the ride to it either, but I know I used to live close. I can’t remember my neighbor’s names or their faces whose house caught fire in the middle of the night, and woke me up to the sound of the crumbling house fall to the ground along with the hot sparks snapping in the sky; I watched the smoke ride into the air that night. I can’t remember what my favorite Italian food restaurant looked like or the name of my favorite Indian food restaurant, but I remember driving past it once, also burned to the ground, and how I felt for the owner.