listen

sometimes. i find myself caught on the needle of some sort of clarity. gasping and wriggling and wanting to stay in my own rose colored version of things

but i get caught on the clarity of possiblility. (because clarity isn't always real or false. it just feels clear) . the possibility that we . have always.. seen us. completely differently.

the end. the middle. even the now.

and the knowledge that i'll never actually know. how we see alike and which memory-scenes are completely different with different soundtracks and different intentions.

nor do i understand myself and the need for us to see the same. like that somehow gives the past more weight. makes it more real.

it will be awhile before i listen with impunity.

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