Faded memories

Faded memories

I’ve been thinking a lot about memory lately. I’ve been wondering how far back people can clearly remember things, and trying to figure out where my own memory goes from spotty episodes to clear and continuous. How much of it exists by virtue of finding corroborating photographic evidence or through others’ accounts, or research through Wikipedia?

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I keep feeling like I'm forgetting something...

I keep feeling like I'm forgetting something...

My brain is weird sometimes. I guess that's a truism when you're prone to depression, anxiety, or just occupy the space outside optimal mental health or sociability, but lately I'm in a space where I'm craving both rest and distraction at the same time.

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Letters (ghosts)

One:

I don't know if I've ever been in love, but this may be the closest thing to it I've ever experienced.

Two:

I worry that the ground shifted in our friendship; there is a distance between us that wasn't there.

Three:

I use the word attraction to describe whatever it was I began feeling about you, but I don't even know how accurate that word is for the mess I've found myself in.

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Behind the lens

I haven't taken pictures in a while; I want to get back into it as a hobby. I don't want to have any expectations to meet, just a chance to play around, possibly with friends, and get comfortable with the camera and my own skills that I don't feel like I'm struggling to juggle the need to think technically and be aware of the right moment to capture the shot. I rush to get through my discomfort and it shows in the pictures. I eventually would like to get some new gear, but before I do that, I want to feel like I've mastered working with the stuff I have.

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Sweater weather

I'm at the library. The sun is out, but it's no longer warm enough to justify a T-shirt and shorts. I'm reluctant to wear the shorts anyway as my waist size is a little smaller than it was when I first bought them. I think I overestimated my girth at the time. The process of clothes shopping has never been my favorite and I end up relying on gifted shirts and pants. It's probably about time to get some new clothes either way. Nothing really seems to fit anymore.

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Nighttime

It’s the middle of the night. I look through my idle Facebook conversations, trying to decide if it’s worth sending a message this late. I still haven’t fully embraced that feature, ever since it switched from an internal e-mail system to a real-time chat engine; unless I’m comfortable enough to drop random Simpsons references into conversation or just randomly send YouTube links, I tend to fret over my choice of words and hang nervously waiting for the response. It’s worse when it’s someone with whom I have an easier real-world rapport than normal.

I usually don’t bother, though. I assume you’re asleep anyway.

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