The truth changes. What I write today is different than what I wrote yesterday, is different than what I would write tomorrow. What we remember becomes our truth, but our memories change with time, with the making of new ones, so our truth changes with them.

I’m trying to write more, but I also want to continue to change, so my relationship with what I write must also reflect this, nothing is fixed. And will I find it harder to change as I wrap myself in ever more verbosely recalled memories?