fleeting things

I tried to look at the starts tonight, and finding none I loked around me. The sight was a real delight to my eyes: centuries old walls looked at me, surrounding me with history and so many untold stories about this place I know inhabit. This place that is so familiar to me now, that I can call each blade of perfectly tamed grass by its natural name.
But the summer night wind blew sideways and I realized that life will blow me away and take me places that are yet unknown to me, and I might never come back to those walls again. This is the last time. I try to take everything in at the same time, but memories fade almost as fast as they are created.
I will have pictures, I say, comforting myself. But how often will I look at them? How often will I remember what I felt, how the cold breeze felt against my skin, how desolating it was to see a starless night.
All my decisions, all my mistakes, all my acts of valor will guide me inevitable to my death and then all my memories will die with me.