seen from the corner of an eye,
maybe past a few wrinkles,
is a long view into the past.
the mind thinks
but it sees forward, and backward...
obsessively backward...
how often is one moment relived,
rethought,
reimagined.
the mind forgets the periphery,
all the eye takes in besides,
all the meat of the world unchosen.
not selected for memory, out on the fringes,
but the more real perhaps,
for all its solidity, in never being questioned, at all...
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