Memories in the sky

A memory is like a kite,
First you let go of it, you let it fly,
But there is a string pretty tight,
That lets you decide how high,
It keeps floating at a distance,
Nudging at you from time to time,
Its colors fading in an instance,
And in an instance gaining their prime,
As you let the string too lose,
It disappears in the sky,
And if pulling it back is what you chose,
A cut of skin may make you cry!