„...I need to return briefly to a few incidents that have grown into anecdotes, to some approximate memories which time has deformed into certainty. If I can’t be sure of the actual events any more, I can at least be true to the impressions those facts left. That’s the best I can manage.“
– Julian Barnes, The Sense of an Ending
Problem With Remembering
But memories are fractured, / to many things forgotten // The cracks that appeared / in a love that was rotten // But still we demand them / indulgent expect them // Cause they’re the only magic we’ve got // Oh, I sat on the hill / and stared at the sky // And thought of romance / and the people I’ve loved // And why is it that / they’re better when they’re gone // When all of their good / is kept safe from home //
When in my mind all the pain / has escaped from my heart //
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