› In The Mood For Love: LXXIX.
LXXIX.
Of course, memory is precise, never exact.
Imagine if you had a way to measure it.
If you, by chance, finally knew how to quantify it.
My memory of the city-lights decorating
a portion of Makati is twenty feet long.
My memory of the boy I loved in high school
can fill in forty thousand beakers.
The palanca given to me by my best friend:
down to only ten millimeters.
His voice: the volume of the Pacific ocean.
My first kiss: now just one and a half inch.
Yet what memory is solid?
And what kinds are meant to be scaled
as liquids or gases?
I am certainly no scientist of memory.
Yet I will always know this:
memory is precise, never exact.
