Cemetery of Splendor

「運転手さんの肩ごしに大きなフロントガラスの向こうを透かして見ると、
　二車線のハイウェイはどこまでもまっすぐ延びて、
　決してたどりつけない涼しい湖のような、ゆらめく蜃気楼の中に消えていた。」

I was reading National Story Project edited by Paul Auster, 
which again reminded me of that trip to America back in 2011, 
that we were somewhere in Arizona or Utah, 
I supposed it was the way back from Monument Valley to Los Angeles, 
that at the gas station, we washed our little crappy Hyundai with the mops together. 
For some weird reason, I remember that even back then, 
I already knew that I would someday remember about this little scenery as a reminiscence, 
as something precious. 
And actually I did, but it was much much more than that as a result 
because of this single fact that he is not here anymore, anywhere. 
It has been a year passed since he'd gone. 
I wonder he had remembered that we washed the car together back time. 
It is such a petty episode, It took only 5 minutes or something. 
5 minutes in my whole 27 years. No more or No less. 
While I am writing this, it will be taking more than that. 
However I won't forget that 5 minutes, or maybe I will.
I am forgetting even in this very moment. I can't help forgetting. that every single detail..., 
Only thing I've surely remembered is that we mopped the car together and he looked happy. 
Recently I saw a film called "Cemetery of Splendor", 
and I thought that something could remind something, which is NOT directly connected with the other, 
but its feel, touch, or the atmosphere got something in common....
You cannot explain how they are connected, since it is beyond any logical explanation 
since it is solely unique to a memory on one's own. 
As the time goes by,  maybe I will have forgotten the most part about us mopping the car,
But at times in my life, I will be reminded in any given occasion, 
which will come so suddenly and unexpectedly,  just like flashback or let's call it Splendor, 
of that feel when we were mopping the car in the gas station.  
And even the every single detail of those episodes or memories would have fallen apart with pieces, 
and its any possible description finally disappears, 
that very feel would be only a thing which lasts in the end.