it’s raining. i’m reading things i don’t remember writing: stories, poems, anecdotes.

.

i remember so little of the past.

the more i try to recall memories, the more they retreat into the unknown. each time i try to reconstruct one, i add something from the present to it. i now have different versions of each, and no way of telling what really happened.

even recollection is an act of defamiliarisation.

.

redesigned memories are falling around me, simultaneously pushing me away from and bringing me closer to other points in time.

water never precipitates alone.