I remember it all. Or most of it. Well maybe just some of it. Actually I’m not sure how much of it is even my own memory. Bits and pieces of things I’ve seen and read collect in my head and attach to my sense of self in a way that I can no longer spot the difference between a scene on a screen with a character I don’t even know the name of and the story that I told your friend when we met on the back porch at his house, and I think that was me, but maybe it wasn’t. How much of me was made up in a dream?
my tiny tiny bean!!!!!
I just found out I’m pregnant
I would rip the skin from my bones just to be more comfortable
I’m suffocating in here