Memories

I listen to people tell stories.

I read what people write in books . . . and on Facebook . . . and on twitter.

I think about the things I remember, etched in granite deep in my memories.

And I wonder about reality.

Because the way we remember things varies so much from person to person that it is often hard to believe they are the same stories seen from different eyes, remembered by different needs, retold for different reasons.

Is reality only a jumble of transparent slides tossed in a pile by all the people present?