Lately I’ve been having some bizarre out-of-body experiences, or maybe just experiences where I become aware of what I’m truly like and it’s slightly different from what I’ve always assumed. I feel kind of like a visitor in my own mind. Either way, things feel to be changing and change always leads to many uncertain journal entries.


There’s something in me that makes me not want to go home. HOME. If the heart is nowhere, where is home? Home is not a house, or a person. Maybe home is just a collection of memories. I’ve been thinking about memories and how they are connected to the body. I once read, in passing, that humans remember things differently as time goes on. Maybe we’re affected by our present circumstances, and we feel that our lives should be more cohesive than they actually are. Because sometimes things don’t make sense. How can you be one person now, and be another before? My mind can’t put it all together. Maybe writing it down will help. Maybe I’m just tired.


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