People like us, who believe in physics, know that the distinction between past, present and future is only a stubbornly persistent illusion.
The present is my past.
The past is vast.
Lost history is waiting
But without memory, the traveller is partially blind.
I have realized that the past and the future are real illusion, that they exist in the present which is what there is and all there is.
My memories are scattered.
By the winds, the wars and the words.
My memories are scattered,
But you need to find them.
They are the keys to continue.
They form the face of the mystery.
Figment of my imagination.
Fragment of my memory?
What happens when a question has several answers?
What happens when math isn’t subtraction?
When you have to retrace your steps and do them again?
Duel, dual, duo…
Everyday, I remind myself that the first word was alright.
Everyday, I hear his voice.
NOW, I must see his eyes.
Then, I will cross the waves, I will defy time and go back where the trees are high and the stones are square.
Then, the book of my origins will add more pages.
Full of words, memories, laughs and tears.