The You That I Remember

It's a fact of human memory

That I'm at best unsure

If the you that I remember

Is the one you really were.

'Neath dark clouds of concussions

and questions of recall

Lies the fact that for the past ten years

You have not been–at all,

So that raises one more question,

At the heart of memory:

Why, of all the things I've half-forgot,

You should mean a thing to me,

But the truth is fate's had ample chance

To cull what I won't need.

(They say) the rest goes down as

(Flawed and biased) history.