The past is hazy and cluttered — with it, come waves of sentiment and doses of elusiveness because I feel it, but cannot remember it.
I’m reading 1984 by George Orwell. In his story, the concept of past, present, and future are distorted to the point where nothing is objectively true. No one knows the year. No one can tell which facts are fake and which are real. No one has any control over their own destiny.