My memories have always been both blurry and vivid. I can remember the exact route I had taken on a nameless train station more than a decade ago, but the memories from two days ago could also become blank. As if amnesia had mometarily taken place. As if lighter, newer recollections are easily washed away by the current, while the deeper, older flashbacks claw onto you like quicksand.

I am moving forward, but at the same time slowly pulled back by nature itself, as if I am constantly in parallax. Both forward and backwards simultaneously. I look to the future, and yet all the road signs ahead remind me of the past.

The river washes over my bare feet. It reminds me of snowmelt from the coming late spring. I slowly pull myself forward, feet lifting the gravel in the riverbed, and I feel each stone pile on my feet as soon as I take the next step forward.

I look back, and the mountain in front of me glistens in the surface.