Andrew J. Lederer

in the last couple of days, to remember real images of London -- vivid summonings of places there -- for the first time since I returned to the States two months ago.

It's like, "I remember now."

But until the other day, I was simply in my New York life and remembered England intellectually but not with any resonance.

I didn't need any -- it had just happened and other stuff was happening here and now.

Question is, do memories always return? The real memories, not the stories we've crafted to protect ourselves and guide our daily lives in what we've decided are the best and most productive ways?

Or do people really forget the way chunks of their lives actually felt and instead, separated from the distractions of reality by internal blinders, live as if their belatedly-created narrative was the whole truth?