A memory is just a story altered.
Every recall differs from the one before it.
The details will fade, though the essence remains.

An orator of the mind spins the tales,
Our experiences catalogue them.

The bitter ones grow even more bitter.
The happy ones grow even happier.

But this mind of mine refused my request.
Figuring some memories are best,
left behind.

And so in my unremembering,
I ponder the splendid and mundane,
that has all been locked away.