I’m starting to lose things I remembered already,
things you say I said
but I cannot recall
are sliding through my swinging doors
once tightly closed,
once believed to be preciously shut,
swinging open both ways
like the saloon doors
of an old western film,
letting in the good,
and the beautiful.
I used to think the past was like a room,
which would always remain accessible
but now I know that memories are worlds,
never meant to be revisited in any way,
except through the stubborn
backwards steps of the mind.
I look back there at my reflection
as if staring into someone elses eyes,
someone I may have known and left behind.
Left behind in tears maybe
Left behind in fear maybe
Left behind with laughter maybe
but nonetheless outgrown.
No womb is meant to hold a child forever.
With every letting go,
or pried away by the fingers of time,
I am born and die
and born again.
Life never ends.