Sometimes, occasionally, often, almost always.

I feel so old. Like I’m years ahead of my time in some ways. Maybe this is the problem, the invisible entity standing in the way of my conversation with people. I can’t communicate as well as I used to be able to adapt. Sometimes it’s like there’s this whole other life, these other lives, that lurk beneath the surface of memory, that I’ve lived a whole other life and come out of it with a mind crammed with things I cannot describe, that nobody can see except me. Like I’ve already lived once before, so it’s hard to regain my footing with people I used to be able to chatter on endlessly with.

What on earth did we use to talk about? Grades? Homework? Relationships? Idle gossip? People? Philosophy?

I honestly don’t know.