Faulty memory
In the night, the brain had been busy changing my mind.
I have heard many stories in my lifetime, but they are
not forgotten
in my sleep, the story continues and gets a different ending
Sometimes, when remembering my childhood, I tell a story of something that happened to me, only to realize later that I cannot pinpoint the moment and where it happened. When I try to spin the memory, there is no before or after. The conclusion is that I'm telling of a memory that belongs to someone else; a story of a small boy, discovering the wonder of the day.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem