Misremembered

Memory is the only place where the past is never finished.

We forget details, hold on to certain feelings, and over time begin to remember things differently. At some point, it becomes difficult to tell where memory ends and imagination begins.

I sometimes wonder how much of what I remember is true, and how much has been shaped by time, emotion, or the stories I’ve told myself over the years.

Memory is a beautiful thing. It allows us to carry people and places long after they’re gone. But it can also keep us looking behind us. And when we spend too much time there, we risk overlooking what is right in front of us. The people who love us today. The moments that will one day become memories themselves.

Maybe the goal isn’t to remember everything perfectly. Maybe it’s to remember enough to carry the past with us, without letting it keep us from the present.

How much of what we remember belongs to the past, and how much belongs to who we’ve become?