The person who I was isn’t the person I’ve become. Somewhere along the way, I changed, and became me. Somehow, at some point, I was pulled into existence, by actions over which I had no control. Yet they were my actions.
When you look back, it’s either because of something you miss, or because of something you’ve missed. There is no innocent reminiscing. It’s either guilt or pleasure, never mere contemplation.
Those who get caught up in the past cannot move forward. Fearing their old mistakes, or basking in the glory of days gone by, they are left behind. Reality knows only the present.
Like a thumb-movie, the minutes flicker by, and we change from frame to frame. There would be no sense to what we are doing right now without what happened before. Yet what happened before has already left this world. It only lives on in our memory. With each breath we take, we kill ourselves, and are born over and over and over.
As we stop remembering, the synapses retreat, one after the other. The past disappears. We can read about it, we can look at the pictures. We can talk about it with our friends. But the feeling is gone.
Memories fade with time, and time creates new memories. New synapses emerge, new connections are made, and the old world slowly slips into oblivion. Images that were once razor-sharp are now dull and blurry. Sounds have lost their meaning. Sentences have become words, disjointed and out of context. And emotions have become cumbersome obligations.
Long forgotten, lost in the chaos of our brain, a lonely neuron keeps on discharging his signal into the world.
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