memories
If memory serves me…
Well, it doesn’t.
Memories, myths, legends, all cut from the same cloth.
Stories told a thousand times become independent, no longer attached to the facts. They never were factual documentation to begin with.
An event takes place in front of hundreds of spectators. A thousand different stories emerge.
We might look at the same thing, but we don’t see the same thing.
Bound by our perceptions and points of view, each observer witnesses a different story.
Over time stories are molded, sculpted, and repeated until the memory fades away.
All we are left with are stories.
Memories come in flashes, blurry, and incoherent.
Pieces of a puzzle, forever incomplete.
Suddenly, we remember a smell, a song, a voice, a movement, a moment.
It’s hard to pin it down, but it’s there, somewhere within ourselves.
Then come the stories, trying to patch things together in the hope it will all make sense.
