I remember everything, of course, but my memory doesn’t work the way yours does. I have my suspicions as to why, but I won’t get into them just yet. I tried eating walnuts because I read in a book that walnuts help refine the memory, but walnuts are sort of expensive. It’s not that my memory is poor, not necessarily, it’s more so growing and shaping itself around a void of sorts. Unruly and untamed around a vibrating question mark. Like how a meadow grows back where a bomb goes off.
I remember everything, what I ate for breakfast and the conversation I had yesterday, the same as how I remember childhood, saturated and hazy, big feelings overlapping like waves and light through the leaves and a sandwich in the middle at lunchtime. Something about the body that cannot lie to me the way my mind can. Something shuddering within, something settled deep in me beyond meeting and parting. Something about my soul and all the brambles and sinews twisting around it. Something about the past lives which I cannot remember.
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