I came across an old picture of mine and felt a terrible tug in my heart. Because I know when I am gone, so too is my work. I can’t deny that hurts. I would like to believe that at some carboot sale where my life is sold after being cleared out of where ever I end up, someone will say that photo or piece of art (writing never gains much attention) is nice. That someone will appreciate it. They will, in a way, remember me.