I recall a memory where I was sleeping in my grandmother’s house,
I feel the sunlight on my face
I hear the birds singing outside the window,
I feel peace and warmth waking up on a summer evening
Or summer morning.
I know this memory is true!
I can even smell the flowers outside,
I feel that I am there and that, if I open my eyes,
I will see her outside watering the plants
And the trees.

I travel often to this scenery
And every time all the feelings come back
And a new part of the day
In my mind
Time is frozen
And even though my grandmother, the house and the lemon tree are no longer there,
They will always be in the exact same setting
In my mind

Lots of places that I once knew
Are not the same anymore
And even though I saw some of the changes
My mind
Is clinging to what I would prefer those places
To be

Between what is now true
And what was there before
My mind
Is the curator.
It covers the unwanted and reveals the desired
It generates feelings based on fiction,
Worlds that still exist in their fake form to serve
My comfort

And in the end
If someone never learned about the changes that happened
Do those changes even count?
Did they really happen if you never learned about them?

When reality is governed by perception
Can you ever be sure that it’s