How many times have I seen the spin of a soccer ball, the headlights of a white Lexus, and the pages of a book fade as I fall asleep?
On countless occasions I've heard my father's guitar twang in the other room, Christmas carols playing throughout the house during the holidays, and my father saying "You're okay, shake it off".
I can't remember how often I've tasted peanut butter honey sandwich, my grandmother's cheese straws, and the tangible fear from looking over a steep ledge.
So much I've smelled bacon on a Sunday morning, wet grass as it clings to me and my cleats, and the pure cold air high up on a Colorado ski lift.
How many times have I felt pure joy in the beaming pride my parents have for me, the quiet solitude that comes with being an only child, and the familiar sense of home as I enter the door of my house on Shadow Oaks Trail?
While I've lost count of all these memories, they're still a part of me, each one a building block.
One by one.