Sometimes and often
I attempt to remember how things were
only months ago,
and it seems as if I cannot do so.

I remember memories of memories
Like beaten and old film clips from the 80s.
In the same way old movies and photos don’t look
truly real, because they look different, it’s a whole other
world out there, coloured differently, different clothes
and cameras and lifestyles, except
everyone still acts mostly the same,
I know this but it is still hard for me to know it.

That was me only four months ago.
Things were very
different for me too, it was like another era
that my parents were a part of, not me.
Turns out I’m not much of a me
Without
you.

here was a thought of how
life is like a child, with all of its random acts of absurdity.
thoughtless, maybe not, there is something in there, it has the
best
intentions
but it does not know them
so this child, this baby,
is life, are we
the parents,
the creators?
or some participants
in a greater scheme? We try to control life
but it won’t listen, maybe it will get tamer as you
get tamer but I still doubt it, as a parent you
are world weary and cannot
win.