Creating Memories

I’ve forgotten to write the past week.
Too busy creating memories with my family in Boston.
My home town. A place I feel immensely at ease. Why should I have to write about that?

Because
Memory is like a sieve
Writing creates bigger pores on the sieve.
I know this trip will be forgotten at some point. Unless I write about it.

Writing consecrates to memory the insignificant details that would otherwise be sifted away.
Like that we stayed in the apartment of a family from Idaho. Who have nothing but plastic dinnerware and no cutting board. And whose ceiling groans when the neighbour above takes a step.

But will I forget how good it feels to be home? Do I have to write about that too to remember?