Love after love by Derek Walcott

The time will come when, with elation you will greet yourself arriving at your own door, in your own mirror and each will smile at the other's welcome, and say, sit here. Eat. You will love again the stranger who was your self. Give wine. Give bread. Give back your heart to itself, to the stranger who has loved you all your life, whom you ignored for another, who knows you by heart. Take down the love letters from the bookshelf, the photographs, the desperate notes, peel your own image from the mirror. Sit. Feast on your life.

progress

Teach a kid how to respect
instead of how to obey

now

there's only now
if memories were meant to last forever in our heads
they simply would
we wouldn't need photographs, journals, videos
even happy moments should be forgotten
specially those that don't mean anything after
only the present is real
the rest is an illusion that makes us think there is something called time

forgetting

all memories are indelible
each has a map
with routs and shortcuts to get to them
but that sequence of signs
when effectively dismantled, that is
no annoying  MacGuffins lying all over
no related characters around
no real desire or will to do so
makes them (happily) inaccessible

for dummies

disillusionment
should come with a manual

oddity

there are moments in which the sum of all those things that make you who you are

doesn't add up