A memoir (from French: mémoire: memoria, meaning memory or reminiscence) is a collection of memories that an individual writes about moments or events, both public or private that took place in the subject's life. The assertions made in the work are understood to be factual. While memoir has historically been defined as a subcategory of biography or autobiography since the late 20th century, the genre is differentiated in form, presenting a narrowed focus. A biography or autobiography tells the story of a life, while a memoir often tells a story from a life, such as touchstone events and turning points from the author's life. The author of a memoir may be referred to as a memoirist.
Memoirs have been written since the ancient times, as shown by Julius Caesar's Commentarii de Bello Gallico, also known as Commentaries on the Gallic Wars. In the work, Caesar describes the battles that took place during the nine years that he spent fighting local armies in the Gallic Wars. His second memoir, Commentarii de Bello Civili (or Commentary on the Civil War) is an account of the events that took place between 49 and 48 before the Common Era in the civil war against Gnaeus Pompeius and the Senate. The noted Libanius, teacher of rhetoric who lived between an estimated 314 and 394 in the Common Era, framed his life memoir as one of his literary orations, which were written to be read aloud in the privacy of his study. This kind of memoir refers to the idea in ancient Greece and Rome, that memoirs were like "memos", or pieces of unfinished and unpublished writing, which a writer might use as a memory aid to make a more finished document later on.
I saw your face, painted on the wall
Shapeless in space, colorless and small
I remember you, faded and subdued
I spent the day, haunted by your sight
Hiding away, curse away the light
I remember you, fading out of view
You're a memory now
You're all faded and brown
You're just namelessly hung
On the tip of my tongue in a silent remark
You're a memory now
You're just dust on the ground
Just a whisper of steam on the crest of a dream
While I walk in the dark
You're a memory now
Sheltered and safe, hidden and concealed
Your timid face, never was revealed
Shaded from the light, tepid and so slight
Shake off the dust, wipe away the years
Scrape off the rust, nothing more appears
I've been through it all, still I can't recall
You're a memory now
You're all faded and brown
You're just namelessly hung
On the tip of my tongue in a silent remark
You're a memory now
You're just dust on the ground
Just a whisper of steam on the crest of a dream
While I walk in the dark