How close is a memory to reality?

What to do when there is a tug,
somewhere deep in the recesses
of the squishy recollections of
assorted neurons and cells,
found housed carelessly in
three pounds of water and fat,
what to do when from this
apparent bed of sentience arises
the pull of yesterday reformed

If it was so simple as to return
to the past as if it was real,
well, would that not be glorious
until insanity set in. It seems
the mushy matter that helms
the ship has chosen wisely, the
heavy lifting in the reconstruction
of moments gone is left to what
was felt and the edges of a dream.