Confabulations

The way our brain works, 

It would always try to protect its host,

Memories of the past would slowly fade, 

Or simply lose its actual meaning

Those memories which do not bring us peace 

   would be filtered with new narratives,

Faces of those whom we used to love

   would either fade or become less attractive,

Happy moments of the past 

   would be askewed to seem ordinary 

Then the brain would tell its host 

   that this not confabulation, but reality

The end goal would be: 

  We would not be haunted by guilt, 

  We would not miss the past, 

  We would tell ourselves we did nothing wrong, 

The brain creates a safer, comfortable new reality. 

But deep deep down, 

Buried underneath all those filters, 

Under all of those layers of confabulations,

Honesty prevails. 

We did have magical moments,

We wrote letters to each other on the same day, 

We both cried underneath under the shower, 

We did love one another. 

Sorry brain,

You have to work harder to protect your hosts.