Once, I felt all of this.

I remember it.

Or, I think I do.

I remember it in a way that feels like waking up from a dream. In pieces. Squinting into snippets and glimpses of half-made pictures.

And I wonder.

Is it a memory or an illusion? Is it my imagination or a delusion?

I remember it.

Or, I think I do.

Because some of it, I don’t remember at all.