As the flowers bloom in Spring
The Seeds of Memories were sown
And when the birds do flap and sing
Those thoughts will then have grown
During Summer they will glow
But also slowly fade to none
And drifting down the river's flow
When their time for here is done
Then the time of Autumn it would be
The flowers would then wither away
Questions would be posed to see
Did I really live that day?
Soon those times of joy then froze
And are at a steady fade
Were they memories that I chose?
Were they memories I have made?
The Melody never sung
With Harmony never played
And at the tip of my tongue
Are the Memories never made
I was wondering about how when we tell stories, we all use story fillers, those parts we don't remember too well, but have an idea. The more we use that filler, and the more people accept, you yourself accept it as what happened and therefore it is a false memory...
Then anything of a false memory is as well as a true memory, given that it cannot be disproven.
Um.. some people say I watched the matrix 1 too many times, but I havn't seen any of the matrix -_-