Everything is Not Daijobu
It’s later than usual.
I find images circulating through my mind of things that never happened, of people I once knew. Everyone is recognizable, playing out how I remember them in my head.
I’m sure they’re not like this at all anymore, but a memory stands the test of time.
I can’t know for sure the people they have turned into. I still can’t figure out if the me that I can see is from the past, or the version that exists today.
That makes me think I haven’t changed much in ten years.
I know that’s a lie.
I wonder if their impression of me has changed over time, or if the memory of that is also etched into time itself.
A stagnant snapshot of what once was.
No matter how much I change, it will persist.