2.0

The version of you that only exists in other people’s memories I live in fragments I cannot reach scattered across minds I no longer visit, preserved in the soft distortion of memory, where truth blurs and feeling does the editing. In one person’s mind, I am louder than I ever was. In another’s, I am kinder than I remember being. In someone else’s, I ended too early paused mid-sentence, unfinished, unresolved. None of these versions ask for my permission. They persist without my awareness, like echoes trapped in rooms I no longer own, shaped more by distance than by detail. And I wonder which one is real, if any of them are? Or am I just the sum of what lingers after I’ve already moved on? Because I am not only who I am becoming, but also who I used to be when no one was looking and who I am when everyone is remembering differently.