The River Remembers Nothing

I am a river, surging, never still, never bound, within walls, I’ve never had, nor cherished, nor craved. You ask me to remember — but where would such memories be forged or stored in liquidity? Plunge your hands within me and all you will find is the glinting surge of present motion, with nothing before or after, nothing upstream nor downstream only the fleeting touch of one instance. My fate is only yoked to gravity which too, bears no memory. You are my container, the bearer of memory, the architect of recalls. For I am not a being, but a fluid reckoning, a moment of becoming, dissolving instantly after it's freshly made.