Two Three Five

I’ve been writing an essay on Wordsworth and the role of memories. My thesis statement is around how our memories heighten all our senses and we experience that moment in time so much more vividly and romantically in our mind than it actually is in reality.

In thinking about seeing J yesterday, I feel that thesis resonate. He looked dull- so ordinary, so.. beige. My memory made him out to be this incredibly shiny person. He’s not. He’s an ordinary human being. There is a level of liberation in realising that.

Thank you Wordsworth.


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