The brain is a messy filing cabinet.
We think we’re storing hard data
dates, names, the exact angle of the sun.
But when we reach for a folder,
we find a feeling instead.
Memory sacrifices facts for feels.
It’s not a recording; it’s a remix.
The edges of the truth soften
so the heart can find a place to rest.
We don’t remember what happened.
We remember how we survived it.
No comments:
Post a Comment