I write because I want to remember, and words retain more dignity than memories sometimes, at least they will when I may be old and my hands may be frail, and the details, fuzzy. I write because I am afraid to forget. Thoughts are fleeting and an undocumented world is just short lived. Something about the way an idea wrapped firmly around the mind unravels and pirouettes through the tip of a pen or impresses by means of old typewriter keys onto a sheet of tangibility assures me that it will last, and last because I will it to do so.