(existential crisis/in-transition)

Sometimes I think,

I have forgotten many things; 

how to write,

what to feel,

how to think,

what to do –

everything is fleeting.

Time passes.

Moments pass.

Quiet evenings and late mornings are simply poems on postcards;

everything passes.

.

Sometimes I think,

I don’t remember.

I simply have no recollection;

what the past was like,

what life before the homecoming was –

how – no, who – I was before.

I don’t know if I miss her, the girl I was.

I don’t know if I miss the life I had before this that I now call home again.

I am in the moment, yet everything passes;

temporary.

How strange.

.

Sometimes I think,

I don’t remember writing that on blogphilic;

but there it sits, a write-up.

One more piled up, already collecting virtual dust.

Did I really write these, was it in fact I who documented those thoughts?

.

.

.

On every today that eventually becomes another uneventful yesterday,

I am a blank slate.

An empty canvas.

A fleeting interval.

A memory forgotten.

Sometimes I think,

I really don’t remember.

I have no recollection of what life was like before this grand, good ol’ homecoming.

What – no, who – I was before.

I am trying my darnedest,

and yet –

and yet –

and yet –

I can’t – dear God help me – I just can’t remember.

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4 thoughts on “(existential crisis/in-transition)

    1. I can’t say this is a poem haha – it was more fragmented thoughts – but thank you :)

      And I’m not certain if this is good or bad too aha – I don’t find it either, but I do feel very… detached. And different. On that, I find that it’s a maybe-not-very-good thing.

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