Memory

Yes, that is the title for this week’s poem. But it is something I have been thinking about lately. Are our memories ever truly our own? I know that there are some things I think I remember but I just think I do. And then there are the smells. All of my grandparents and friends’ houses have a certain smell, and I’m sure mine does too. I just can’t smell it, because I am so used to it. That’s very like other aspects of yourself. How many of us see ourselves totally differently then our family or friends do?

I will try to get some work done on the story this week. The first exams are behind me and I don’t work, so I should get something done. Hold me to it. If not, I’ll write again next Sunday.

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