Visiting the past, again

Visiting the past is always a revelation. This year I found out there is nothing of me left in that shallow world where time stands still. Nothing – but an empty shell mistaken for a person I’m not. I can’t create my present reality here, the past is petrified.

The voices in the past repeat the same sentences for what seems like an eternity of a single moment. They’re at a shore, attempting to chew the rocks in their mouths instead of trying to talk to the ocean of time that is raging and frothing in front of them.

“What’s the point of talking to water”, they’d say if they could. Not seeing beyond. The past is not a place, it’s the inside of people.

Soon I’ll swim back out to my boat where time moves again.