Quick, said the bird

Memory is strange, the past not a stable territory. Having a work trip in Dublin, walking known streets. A vivid year and half I once had here, and now the memory of that is of distant but still clear echoes, and faces slowly fading. Most people have left, the constellations long since changed.Intense time with intense feelings: I am half-inclined to nostalgia, but only half - I would not exchange those experiences for anything, but I would not be anxious to repeat that time, so often terrible, painful. Not that it would be possible: though the river keep the name... So, memory is very strange - an immediate, intense life transformed into a recollection, distant but clear echoes, conversations, experiences slowly fading. I have kept the name but am not the same having lived here once.