It’s probably a defense mechanism. Whenever we recall certain moments in our lives, the emotions we feel alter the tiny details of every second and morph them into something more pleasant so that when we go back to it some other time, the ugly extras have already been filtered out. And I’m also not just talking about memories affiliated with love and affection. I’m talking about every single experience, no matter how temporary.
I find tragic beauty in that distortion. But it’s almost heart-breaking to even consider that the memories we so lovingly go back to when we’re at the lowest point of our lives are impure. It’s as if there’s an implication of deceit in every instance of recollection. And to think that we actually find a form of consolation in those mashed up lies at the back of our heads.
In fact, I consider it as subconscious cheating. But it’s not that bad, really. It just makes me wonder what would happen if we saw memories as they actually happened.