Sometimes I look through snapshots of my past lives.
The edges of each photograph tinged yellow by time.
I barely recognize myself.
A stranger with my blue eyes.

There's no use in wondering what he'd think of me today.
He will never have to face my decisions.
He will never stand trial for them.
I couldn't care less what he thinks.
He's long since died.
Replaced by several incarnations who also have passed
on the road to becoming me.

These relics, tokens of breath taken,
remind me to keep in mind the person I will become.

What will I happen across in an attic box
someday, lifetimes from now?
Will what I leave for the future me
be enough to bridge the gap?
Will he remember me?
Or will I be a faint ghost in the back of his mind?

I guess only he can answer those questions,
and when I become him, I will.

Until then,
I linger too long on an old picture of myself -
This boy, he has promise.
I think he's going somewhere.