Difference

When was I last in the moment? When has my mind been on what I have in my hands?

Which of my lives is real?

I know the difference. The one I imagine is very quiet--without acquaintances. I am thin.

This morning, I remembered my father waking me up to go walk with him on the beach. I was the only one he woke. I was the only one he cared about. I remembered the conversations we would have about the ocean and the stars and the tides.

For a part of a second, the real memory flashed on my mind. I had forgotten the truth. I went with him because I was a light sleeper. He would try to sneak out, but I would wake up and follow him. He never said a word on the beach. Not a word. He spent the mornings looking for shells my mother would like. She hated shells. She threw them all away.

How many of my other memories have been twisted around?

I don't care.