Our memories, are like a city: we tear some structures down, and we use rubble of the old to raise up new ones. Some memories are bright glass, blindingly beautiful when they catch the sun, but then there are the darker days, when they reflect only the crumbling walls of there derelict neighbours. Some memories are buried under years of patient construction; their echoing halls may never again be seen or walked down, but still they are the foundations for everything that stands above them.
Glas told me once that thats what people are mostly: memories, the memories in their own heads, and the memories of them in others people’s. And if memories are like a city, and we are our memories, then we are like cities too.
-Tom Pollock, The City’s Son