When the tale is told
It is transformed from the original experience.
Yet I know with a certainty that transcends reason
That the retelling is weighted with Leonard’s needs.
I was the victim of the outrage.
Surely I knew and remembered the disappointment
That consumed me.
I could not be mistaken.
His story is so distinct,
So unreconcilable with the truth,
That he must be lying,
Or has created a fantasy to align with his self-image.
Herbie, who dropped a large rock
On my head,
Has lived sixty five years with the near tragedy.
Nightmares visit his sleep.
I wish Herbie a belief that the rock
Was merely a pebble slipped from his hand.
Why do I begrudge Leonard his fantasy?
Because he has not suffered... or is it that his memory is not fictitious?
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