"This fugitive memory I'd would so like to capture,is dwindled..."

Days flow into nights,nights into day,in a rush,
Words into memories,a whisper,all hush.
Essence of a moment,a faint fragrance,somehow faded.
All seem forgotten,as a new day is awaited.
Is it a need for survival which makes us forget the past?
Through all the sweet and bitter memories that last.
Yesterday makes today and the day after,
Made of joy,tears and laughter.
Which makes what,smug in the knowledge of being better?
Is it the word or the letter?