I think it is all a matter of love; the more you love a memory the stronger and stranger it becomes
“The clouds passed, in phrases and paragraphs, like incomprehensible messages of troubling import, overhead across the forested ridges, above the unsealed cliffs, beyond the uninhabited fields of lonely mesas, followed by their faithful shadows flowing with effortless adaptation over each crack, crevice, crease and crag on the wrinkled skin of the Utahn earth.”
Edward Abbey | The Monkey Wrench Gang