Wrinkled Memories

Did you ever see it? he asked.
And I had to remind him that it was he who had brought me there,
That we'd thrown the instruments in the back of someone's little black truck –
Arrived, bumping precariously, up a dusty dirt driveway.
But he laughed, and told me with naive sincerity
And poignant guiltlessness
That, oh, his memory was shot.
Completely scattered, he said with a glowing smile.
As he left, I closed the door behind him,
And sighed.
At his carelessness, the sweet naivety.
What will you have when you grow old?
I wondered,
Because memories are all I have left.
Bittersweet memories,
Memories getting wrinkled on the edges,
A little torn,
Settling into the furrows of my mind with age.
I can't fathom what it must be like,
To not be burdened by the sweetness of the past.