Boxes

Listen: Ghosts - Laura Marling

I used to write so freely in the past. I can't now. I'm not saying it out of self-pity, or because I need yours, but because I'm stating a fact. I can't.

What used to be reliable - writing, reading, understanding, remembering - they're not so easy now. In the past months, I've had people tell me I haven't met requests for things I remember they never asked for; I've also had people tell me that what I remember isn't true.

You tell me that memory is a shifting thing, that yours itself isn't the same - and it isn't, because what you tell me changes too - but yet. Because I used to have a good memory, because I used to be able to tell anyone who asked me, accurately and quickly, what they wanted, my explanation that I can't remember things well - nobody buys it.

And the things that I remember as true - how can I tell you anything else if what I'm saying is what I remember - and yet you deny that I'm telling the truth? Am I supposed to tell you the truth for something I can't even remember well? How do you do that? Would a pleasing half-truth be better, so long as I keep my face looking honest?

I used to trust my memory too.