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As the clock ticks forward, my heart is constantly looking back. I remember my grandparents and a time when I couldn't imagine a time without them. Now, I don't have to imagine. They are back there, in the memories that I struggle to look back to and remember.
I remember back when I was a little kid and going to school and sometimes liking it, sometimes not.
I feel back to that time in my Aunt Charlotte's backyard, the Coke bottle piercing the underside of my big toe. I remember the pain of the car door closing on toes and other times on fingers.
I remember something that I shouldn't remember, sitting with my great-grandmother on the couch in my Aunt Mae's front room, but she died before I was three so there should be no real memory for me to look back on...yet there is.
I remember atrocities that no child should ever experience or witness from many years ago, but I can't look backwards five minutes and remember the start of the conversation that I am currently in. I can't remember the order of events from our day out working.
But, I can look backwards, smell backwards, remembering the Dove soap in my grandma's bathroom and the Sea Breeze at Aunt Mae's house and how she boiled the water that we had for drinking. I look backwards and remember brushing long strands of shiny, silvery, beautiful hair and hoping that some day mine would be as beautiful as hers.
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