What has happened, has gone. The past cannot be real. It is a place I can never return to. I can never go back to. I cannot measure and see the past. I feel like I can remember it, but in truth, I have forgotten so much, forgotten more than I remember. And if it is forgotten forever, it no longer exists. It will never found again. Never seen again.
I feel and see the effects of the past. I have scars. I have pain. I am a certain version of me because of past me. I can never go back, but, instead I go forward, forward to somewhere. No matter how much I look back, I will never go there. Instead, I am going into another now. I am now. I stand still in now. And then, there is another now. And another now, and another. I am like a stop motion character, making single moves, single poses illuminated in a flash bulb. And each moment of now becomes a then, a then that is gone, or a then that is about to come. I am frozen in this now, flash illuminated. and then, flash illuminated again in the next now. momentary poses taking me to the then, in both directions, a then I can never go to again, and a then that is about to come.