My memory is a peculiar thing
taunting me with the past,
focusing on loss, heartbreak and anguish
than those moments of acceptance and joy
in stark contrast.
The more I remember, the less I remember.
Memory skews the reality of what
once was, of truth.
It must view this as a game,
how far can we deviate from reality
and still make her believe,
and build her future based on these?
When memories are distorted into a
new, thwarted figure
what do I have left?
What can I believe in? Lean on?
The more I remember, the less I want to
remember.
Dawning Words 