Wasuremono

g a p s

A few months ago, I learned that human beings are incapable of accurately remembering memories. I learned that we add and/or subtract details. I learned that our memories, from a decade ago or from yesterday, change as we do.

And I started to wonder about it all. Because I like to replay memories of you and I when I can't sleep; like to braid them into a bracelet to fidget with when I have some free time.

But ever since I learned that memories are tainted, tinged with something else, I'm worried I'm just fooling myself.

Maybe along the way, I just made it up that you stress the A's in my name. Maybe I just made it up that your palms were always dry, even in the summer. Maybe you didn't used to stir your coffee clockwise three times before stirring it counter-clockwise four more times. Maybe I never tasted mint when I kissed you. And maybe I never really perfectly fit in your arms.

So many centuries ago, people made stories about the stars in the sky. They connected the ones close together and gave them backstories. They were not aware that these lights are/were actually so far apart. They were not aware that there is so much space between us and them and between the stars themselves.

Did anyone ever talk about those gaps? Did anyone say anything about the spaces between the bright lights? The void?

Because maybe, that's what I've been doing. When I can't connect anything anymore, when all my memories of you and I are exhausted, I make stuff up with the gap.

I make my own stories.

I make my own version of the memories.

And maybe that's messed up. Maybe it's pathetic.

But maybe all I want is to remember.

Because I don't want to forget what made me stop fearing the night.

I want to remember you.

Always you.

Even if I never actually remember things accurately.