How do you know that the memories you have of your past are real? Yesterday and the day before are easy, they just happened and you still have the receipt from that cup of coffee you bought. It is the memories from years past, reaching back into your childhood that get distorted by the funhouse mirror of time. Remember the summer when you were nine and your rabbit died? Are you sure he was actually real, or was he a product of countless hours of loneliness brought to life by a hazy memory? Or maybe it was just a dream.
It is for this reason that I love finding things from my past. They prove to me that I am real and my life actually happened.
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