We all have hidden lives,
which are not built only on the unspoken and the unspeakable in us. There are
memories submerged, re-imagined and masquerading as reality. There are smells
and sounds and tastes and touches that bob on the surface and only allude to
what lay deep . There are the experiences of childhood for which there was not
yet the language to begin to build memories. There are the things said to us
and done to us that take root, spread in us even as we forget them, and flower
in our actions.
We are forever mysteries to
ourselves, never to be solved, no matter how many clues are given in what we
say or do.
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