Between Memory and Record

Between the things I remember and the things I record,
I pause for a brief moment.
Memory blurs while holding the warmth of emotion,
while record becomes clear by stripping emotion away.

The voices and expressions that lingered in my heart
gradually lose their shape as time passes,
yet the emotions of memory, once written down,
grow firmer, almost more enduring.

So on some days, records replace memory,
and on other days, memory betrays the record.
Though I lived through the same day,
the memory left in writing is no longer the same as the one I hold now.

In that gap, I come to realize:
recording is not about preserving the truth,
but about briefly holding memory back from drifting away.
In the end, life sways between memory and record,
and the space between them is what makes me human.