Recollection

They are ours alone, and we guard them
carefully, fiercely. Memories are the matter
of a life perceived, deeply embedded in our
consciousness; they pose as the life we have
lived, but that is often illusory. We must have
our memories for they reflect what we are,
certainly what we have become, as a result of
experiences and stimulating exposures, although
being emotionally fallible, interpretative acuity
of remembrance and fealty to reality are
often distorted to suit our demanding needs.

We may have shared exposures but the
idiosyncrasies of our characters create a
vastly different reception, impression and
long-standing recollection seen through the prism
of our individual needs. We delude ourselves into
believing what we feel we must. It is as though
we inhabit a parallel universe; one consisting
of awkwardly unuseful memories - the other we
clasp close to our emotional fulfillment,
explaining to ourselves why we are as we are.

Any confusion that may result, or inconveniently
disparate withdrawals other make from the
bank of coeval-shared memory can be hastily
discounted, for who knows our memories better
than we ourselves? If that translates to ample
reason to fondle grudges, so be it. When the
memories have been embellished to reflect
handsomely they serve their purpose. Dredging
deep within our psyches to recover evidence of
cause and effect is fraught with the weight
of ego yes, the imperatives of deceit and need.