A Kind of Forgetting.

We hold a version of our past
locked away, deep inside our head.
Sometimes a fragment of it seeps out,
to take us by surprise
as it arrives, blinking nervously,
into the bright light of the present.

A glance, a smile, a trick of the light,
a sound, a taste or a smell.
Something that we may have heard or seen
brings back something that we may have thought.
We frown at it, quietly wondering
if it was really so?

Perhaps everything that we ever knew
is hidden away behind the barricades
of forgetfulness and self preservation.
Everything that made us who we are
lies, tucked away behind a dusty mirror,
grinning away at our delusions.

Our memories are not real.
They are made up of what we think that we remember,
a story that we have made our own
to comfort us through the dark nights,
a white lie which adds meaning
to a long string of random days.

Hold onto those rare moments of truth
when your past opens its heart and sings,
they are your real self.

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