Memories faze, juxtaposing over the other, who’s to say if they are ours. A leaky faucet left dripping maybe, each droplet holds a frame of fiction, as we recall a previous retelling of our name. Why are we here, were we there before, did we not do what was to be done.
I’ve forgotten you, how could I. I promised. I remember now who I was, who we were. I seemed to have been misplaced. I woke up to find myself here, so much has changed since then. I have, we have two children, you should meet them, this is my daughter Anna, I always wondered why I liked that name so much, Anna.
– Josh Fleming
Image by: Jenny Morgan