I tend to believe that my hands used to be strong.  But that memory isn’t truthful.  They were more headstrong, if hands can be that way.  My legs used to stand solidly, firm.  But that memory isn’t truthful.  They were more stubborn.  My feet used to my weakness… they would twist and fail and cause me to fall.  But that memory isn’t truthful.  They were more unobservant.  The resilience of memory is antagonistic sometimes.  But my memory isn’t truthful.

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