I saw myself in her,
I thought I knew her,
but then her actions were confusing,
until I realized she was me,
but at barely thirty,
that's how I would have been.
more sure and distracted
by expectations and planning,
everything I now long to shed
back then I longed to build.
possessions and collections
became the anchors, but then the chains.
they keep me from leaving,
... that keep me from living.
in a moment free of a past
not tied to a future,
in a second that turns to weeks,
that prolonged timeless moment.
for the non-evasive so elusive.
she's still the closest thing to me
but in her supposed prime,
drifting constantly,
with a different sense of time,
so her actions keep confusing me,
me, not who I used to be.