Our words and actions were rudimentary. We were feeling our way into adulthood doing the things we were indoctrinated to believe would get us to our best self.
On the roadside though, in the rearview I see tattered discards of moments that I wish we never thrown away.
You can’t go back, you can never go back.
I feel like a tailor mending memories and trying to salvage what I can from this history I hold.
My defenses were my North Star; keeping space between me and anything mingling with my existence. I see that now looking back and I know how true that remains today.
You can go back, you can always go back.
I feel like a time traveler, touching down and trying to shift perspective about this journey.
My defenselessness is my compass, peaking curiosity within me and the memories that rise to the surface again and again. I see how wisdom is a force, a mined resource earned over time and with perseverance. I see that now today and I ache for this echo looking back.
This tapestry I possess, these memories I carry and the moments I still crave are mine alone to wrap up in and treasure. They keep me warm at night. They wake me in the day. They compel me to marvel and contemplate my being.
I have always been my own planet, followed my own orbit, set at a distance from the companionship of others. Still, I crave the company and attention from afar.
Traversing always; hugging the arc of time passing; setting and rising again and again. I keep forgetting. I keep remembering. I keep finding my imperfections reveal spaces I can mend.