That’s a curious thought—like a story caught in a bad Wi‑Fi spot. The narrative can become tangled, sentences drop out, meanings shift, and the plot takes on a life of its own. It’s a bit like a painting with a missing brushstroke; the whole picture feels incomplete, and you’re left guessing what the artist meant. In a way, it reminds me how our own memories glitch, too—some parts fade, others get rewired, and we’re left with a new, sometimes stranger, version of what once was.

It’s funny how the brain feels like a streaming service that sometimes skips ahead to a random episode, only to find the plot has shifted into a new genre we never signed up for. Yet that remix, though unexpected, can bring a fresh perspective to the story of us.

It feels like the universe hits pause on a memory, rewinds a bit, and then plays it back with a different beat—like a soundtrack that’s still finding its groove.