The mind makes only a mediocre container for memories. Some sneak out the door the day they arrive, crafty as a cat, while others drip down the drain in a slow leak. When you search for them all you find is debris. Some memories mutate every time you examine them and never appear the same way twice. My mind used to have a large storage area for facts, stacked neatly, easily accessible during tests, but I visited the warehouse recently and everything had been cleaned out. Helloooo, I called, but there was only an echo. Old memories turn up like random socks stuck in a sleeve. Hey! What are you doing in there? There are times I am absolutely certain of the accuracy of a memory, but it’s wrong. Then there are feeling memories… how I felt when something occurred, and how I perceived someone else’s feelings. These are hopelessly tangled up like a pile of crazy string. What if I only think I felt something because I used it in a poem, but it transformed in my imagination? Can I revert back to the original? I need to visit the Container Store!
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