what a violation of the present feeling memory continues to be, casting it's long shadows over the moments i know to be freshly made like tracks in soft snow-fallen streets. such a strike against observation, and being present, and the facts in front of our faces.
i feel a longing, a pining, the pull from an imploding star. these are the memories atilt in my mind; those lovely padded, slightly altered and protected wistful thoughts which color and shift a knowing seen truth.
what is a better reality? the one which is hardfast and black and white, or the blissfull, reminiscent, sentimental past?
so many thought, so many feelings, all valid and all felt at the same time. between two worlds is where i reside, and sometimes truth devoid of an honest moment of clarity, is not the most pleasant of atmospheres to inhabit.
i long for the fantasy of memory, and the world of dreams to tuck me in on cold nights.
know a truth, and know a dream, then choose for yourself at which point you will lean either way.