It’s odd
To be so intensely connected with one self’s interior…
To constantly bathe in past memories like sepia coated 60s reel…
To flip through emotions, cataloging their density yet being unable to see through the great complex field…
How does one have the entire plot?
How does one have all the development?
Yet lack the ability to articulate a proper character analysis?
It seems almost nonsensical,
To have all the experience but none of the memories.
Is it the time, a track not run all the way through?
Or is it a common oversight, a piece just out of view?
All this musing feels a bit inane,
These cyclical thoughts nearly driving me insane.