No matter what, I always end up building up a little box of memories - full of toys and pictures and bracelets and stuff. So many little things keep sailing into my life with little stories and feelings attached, and I keep them in a little place all together. Except that really, they drift outwards into all the spaces. They make homes inside my bag or clip onto the straps. They nestle into spaces in drawers or in little nooks on my bookcase. Little things everywhere, like stars.
It's nice to have physical manifestations of little memories and points in time and space, but I think it's even nicer to have them drifting all around you like confetti. It's nice to know things are there to keep you remembering, but at the same time it's nice to know that really the memories are all around you. Everything around you holds a part of you. The trees, the clouds, the air. All of it is storing up parts of you and pressing switches in your attic (brain) so you can remember stories or colours or just the smell of them. So don't worry about your memories, or your things, or your thing-memory combinations, because everything is just seeping into everything else anyway. You are all these things, and they are all of you.
Your mementos are in the sky, and the sky is your memento.