What is it with memories?
Sometimes I wonder, there were ‘n’ number of people I met and events I witnessed in my life, then why is it that I don’t remember it all?
Did I make my own memories? I think I did.
I chose to hold on to people and moments I would have liked to register as my past. At times being manipulative, somewhere, somehow. Not recording the episodes raw and naked, the way life delivered it to me, but sifting through all.Clasping people and things I did not wish to let go and inconspicuously deleting the ones that chafed me.
And that’s the reason, when I search for who I am today, I don’t get an answer! And it’s not surprising. How could I, when I don't even know who I've been??
All my life I had shut my doors. Clutching on to defunct faces and gathering obsolete thoughts in my arms. Faking it to myself that this was my world and my memories .
I think I need to blow off the dust and clean up my closet.