each day my phone reminds me where I was a year ago.
I reminisce –
thinking I was smarter, nicer, prettier, younger “then” –
and for a minute I stop to share these memories.
with myself, my followers, my phone.
and I turn them- my memories – into something of a show
something to brag and boast about
something and someone I used to be
someone who is now history,
someone who is… dead
I am not jealous of the dead.
I am not jealous of the lost.
the ones who are stuck in the memories.
the ones who we strive to be better for – because the fact remains that we –
were not good enough “then”
I think about the word “then” like a railroad crossing
the light doesn’t have to blink for me to slow down – I just do it automatically
“then” is like him
it is a one-word memory
it is triggering
it is a shotgun – no ammo – all recoil
it is – lost loves
and past lives
because you can’t hear the word “then” and not think of a memory
so we generalize it.
a time when freedom meant something to them
someone other than ourselves
an enemy labeled he, she, them
a friend, a lover, a parent
someone we often forget because they were only on our minds back “then”
you see “then” is a shotgun
then is the trigger waiting to be pulled
I don’t envy who I was
but as long as I am stuck looking at “then”
racing toward the past as though I was chasing the future
as long as I am stuck remembering “then”
have I even changed at all?