It’s so strange how little we know of each other. Such tiny snippets of each other’s lives. Do we ever know anyone at all? I mean, really know them? Their thoughts? Their hearts? Their fears?
We know the parts that we pay attention to, but only what we’re shown. If someone wants to keep a part of them hidden, we may never know them at all. Not truly. Not wholly.
And sometimes, people remember parts of our lives that we’ve forgotten completely.
Things we’ve said.
Things we’ve done.
And how odd for something so trivial for one person to be so impacting on another. Life-changing. Ground-breaking. Or, maybe something more.
Sometimes, I wonder how much our own stories match with what others remember. How much are they leaving out? How much are we forgetting? And what order of importance do we each place the events in?
If you stir up the past, do you find yourself dwelling on a specific moment? Or, are you steadfast in remaining in the present? Eyes forward, chin tilted toward the sun?
If you make yourself forget something, is it like it never happened?
Or, are we all just kidding ourselves?
I think I know the answer to that one, at least.