May 5th, 2001


(no subject)

I need to know if you were real
'cause I've been known to get it wrong
When the memory comes
I'll say I'm always in the dark

I can't remember how it went
You looked like everything I wanted
And as you came along
Slowly everything began to change

I need to know if you were real
I'd hate to think that I'd been fooled again
And as the vision fades
I'll say I was blinded by your eyes
I felt them burn

. . . I think I remember. Sometimes I remember - sometimes it comes across perfectly, sometimes I remember just how it was, but sometimes . . . it just flits away. And I try to get it back, of course, but . . . I don't know what's real anymore, I don't know what parts of it actually happened and what parts my mind reconstructed to fill holes.

I don't even have memories anymore. Not that I can trust. I've gone over them so many times that there's nothing left that I'm certain of. I could look through the places where I write the really important things, but . . . I don't want to damage them either.

I don't think she has accurate memories of what happened anymore. I don't think I do. There should be a record somewhere . . . and if there is, I'm not going to risk damaging it.

(but I can't remember how it felt anymore. Once I was loved - once I was really happy - once I thought it would all work out. And I don't remember how it felt. I just don't remember.)
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