What does making a memory feel like?

Listening to the sound of thunder crashing down your roof, as I sit miles away.
You reliving the first time we met.
That harrowing cough and the red that stained the wash basin.
The relief, the anguish, the tears, the pain, the love... always the love...
Our eyes meeting as you walked in that door.

And in another life...
Your coal black eyes. Eyes that I have not seen in years. Eyes that might never gaze unsettlingly into mine again.
Taxis lit by neon and the promise of a safe, albeit whiskey-soaked journey home.
Sitting by a windswept curb with bitter tears and a notebook full of unsent letters.
That first nicotine-drenched kiss.
A tin box. And my life wrapped in a white sheet.

This is what making a memory feels like. And strangely enough, while making each one of them, I've realised that they will stay with me till the end of my days.

These memories will warm me when my body begins to turn cold.

I turn off the light.
Switch on a starry night.
My window flies open.
My bedroom fills with falling snow.