There are spaces for all the versions of me.
There’s this space between who I once was and who I am today. It doesn’t have a name and I prefer it that way. I try not to watch it too closely because I know we can fall in these spaces. We can fall in the trap of redefining our lives to a fault. It becomes an obsession, to understand what sometimes will never make sense.
The spaces gets bigger the more I try to live for today. I keep looking forward but sometimes the simplest thing makes me look back. That pull of nostalgia and sadness is a strange romantic melancholy that my heart is naturally drawn to. But I do not want to be a pillar of salt, frozen by my own fear and regret. I cannot relive memories in order to render my present a shell of a life.
Another space is there for a future I have yet to know. I can’t see where it begins and where this particular journey ends. I want to race to it, let something new envelop me whole. But that would be useless; there is no need to race towards something that will meet you when it’s ready.
We run like thieves in the night, blindly running when we don’t know what we’re running to. I try to slow down, even when my mind has done laps around me. I try to remember that I am a multitude of spaces and cannot be defined by a single one. I try to remember that there are as many possibilities as stars in the sky. I try to remember that I am not my past or my future. I am much more than that, than these markers that we use to track time.