This is a poem of a story which in the reviewing became rewritten.
It’s like quantum physics, a baulkable analogy I know. But it’s that complicated thing that people always try to explain using ways that just don’t make sense. How the smallest particles, the atoms of an atom can’t be seen without being changed because the light we used to see alters them.
Memory is like that.
You see this isn’t even a poem of a story now
It’s the poem of a retelling of a story which just like those tiny particles changed it everytime it was seen.
It was a story about change and permanence.
Something I wrote for an assessment and thought profound before locking it in a folder for year
I still haven’t dug it out of that folder yet and I’m not sure if I want to
I prefer it’s beautiful memory. A tale of a city and a cafe that were always changing. Existing together sometimes and other times apart. Changing when apart and changing each other when together.
Who knows if the actual story is as eloquent as that?
No I prefer my change. As I prefer the world changed and changing. This cycle of review and rewrite is important. It’s how we change our thoughts on things. It’s how we change nations and people and thoughts and minds.
It’s how we change the world.
And I’m sure in time I’ll come back and I’ll change this too.