Memory, it seems, involves the brain having connected its neurons up in a particular way at a particular time, and somehow being able to recover that set-up at a later time.
I’m living in the past, which means
I’m history, because
I can’t know what I am right now,
But only what I was.
And even that depends upon
My memories and reflections;
And that, in turn relies on how
My brain’s made its connections.
Suppose they’ve all got muddled up?
The picture they’d be showing
Could be a fiction. Trouble is,
There is no way of knowing . . .