Without our memories, are we the same people?
Are memories merely filters through which we colour our soul?
Filters through which we use to draw future conclusions?
Or do memories genuinely shape us, and change us, and mould us?
Are memories the clay surrounding our souls, giving it shape and character?;
Our souls a formless shell without them?
Or are our souls originally formless, wordless unconditional love,
and our memories, the conditions we have used to bind it?