The pencil markings on my paper look like tiny doodles that my mind created. They come to life and dance around the page, taunting me with events past. I begin to wander through the open space in my mind, looking for the memories these markings speak of. Where could they be? What has happened to them? Have they ever happened? It's as if they were lost, or maybe fabricated. The taunting markings, the blank space, all too much for my overwhelmed mind, now all I have left to look for is photos.