True or False?

I have this terrible habit of overthinking the past. I take each memory, scrutinize it in my head, turning it over a like a coin between my fingers. I wonder if my memories are as real and just to the truth, as they feel to me. I wonder if there are details that I have chosen to brush over. Or if I have glossed over things that were normally lackluster. I wonder if my mind plays tricks, deludes me into seeing things my way, for better or for worse.  What if there is no 'absolute truth'? What if what we remember becomes our truth, despite being far from reality? What if our memories are nothing but a version of the truth that we choose to believe?

String by String

I was reading up this particular paradox the other day. It said that in every seven years, every cell of the human body gets replaced by a new one. The question is, if each and every cell in our body is changed to new in a lap of seven years and we physically become a new person then how can we say that we are still ourselves? How can we call us by our birth names, when in fact that body no longer exists. 

Tiny Little Bottles

I believe that memories are like little perfume bottles stored in our mind. Each having a distinct fragrance, color and effect. Even after a long time has passed, you just need the tiniest rippled to cause a flood, bringing in these distinct feelings and fragrances gushing into your mind. But these floods sometimes cause a little damage. They remind you of better times which make you nostalgic. Or the stormy days that make you wonder how you survived. Each little bottle has its own significance.