the memory of something

this has happened more than once, where a book comes up in conversation and while i offer my enthusiastic “I LOVE THAT BOOK!!!” it is received by another person not being impressed by the same text. maybe our tastes are different, or maybe, the book isn’t how i remember it.

i wonder.

if i were to pick up the same pages, and allow myself a second tasting of the words, would they hold the same charm and flavor? are my standards and styles the same as they were in 7th grade? have i not changed? have i not matured?

i wonder.

if it’s the same with memories of people and instances of the past. maybe it’s not that i love as much as i think i do, maybe somewhere along the line i just choose to remember it better. in a better way. better than it was. better than it is.

i wonder.

if that second (or maybe third) chance ever came, if i’d risk the ultimate disappointment, of the truth, of having to admit it wasn’t like i thought it was. or would i choose the crystallized hazy hue that is only achieved after sufficient time and space has been given. would i choose hurt and a fresh bought of pain…or would i keep the memories, under faded lace, where they remained mothball preserved sentiments.

i wonder.


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