May 2, 2020
There's a photograph of that day but I don't remember it. Sometimes I get a taste in my mouth for a few seconds, something familiar. Bread. Naan? I try to remember it but just when I think my brain is nearly there, the answer slips away. Memory is cruel, sometimes generous, sometimes useless. I stay in bed an extra 2 hours trying to get back to a dream. There are snippets here and there. A face here, a feeling there, but never the whole thing. Are dreams even whole? They are fragments of ourselves. When are we whole? Awake? Asleep?