No matter how forgetful I am, there are some things I know I'll remember. Names, and perhaps even the faces that go with them will fade, but these feelings will not.

I won't forget the way the water felt as it first hit my skin. The way the moon hid behind the clouds that night. When he drunkenly told me I should be in a band. How easy it was to tell her about him. How rejected I felt when I saw him holding his glass up, at a toast to something or other, but how praised I felt when he wanted to take me alone. The way he accepted the silly things I told him (like, when I'm flying at night, I try to pretend that the ground is the sky, and the sky is the ground). The way she held her arms up, silently asking me to hold her; how she wanted to put her lip gloss on me. Her blonde hair-- the way it stood out in a sea of black-- and the way she cried. How natural it felt to tell him about her while we listened to Green Day... and how he didn't look at me differently afterward. How serene, how untouched the mountains looked against the clouds, and how quickly I felt at home.

It's these feelings that keep the experience real, and I can't forget them. I won't.