A stranger in the mirror

I have lost all that I had a long time ago and yet I think my pockets are full. A journey began probably as an orgasm but all was unconscious where are those days, those unknown memories of being born under the sky. I don’t remember whether I laughed or cried but birth must have been a pleasure im pretty sure a change of scenery would have pleased me if nothing else.

Lost and found were the days of childhood, of everything getting written in this heart of mine to be erased by something new. Each experience for the first time, the first breath of air, the first sip of water, the first morsel of food, the first drop of rain, the first kiss goodnight. Oh I long for those firsts those first tastes unforgettable yet forgotten with use.

Life is beautiful but then don’t listen cos I am insane with fear with laughter, with indifference, with love, with hate with ambition and with pain. Things do happen and they don’t really always seem good but then it’s important to keep in mind that they had to happen if you were to move on.

. Youth my dear friend is a lot and the sad part is it gets over to soon at times, and yet there are those who do last forever and I think I am one of them for after all I am immortal.

Time is such a commodity that sometimes it goes on forever and yet at others it vanishes too fast. Where has it gone was it too long or is it that I just felt it that way. Or was that time too short or may be its just that I felt it that way. So immensely accurate and yet once its gone it becomes mouldable, to be stretched or recoiled in the mind of man. To be cramped in recesses and had like wine.

Age is it really a question. Or is it an answer to time?

I could go on but I choose not to , this is a strange me a serious man who I think was hidden somewhere till alas misery found him, I find him interesting, because he’s different from what I was. I am scared for he is different from what I was. I let him write here in this sacred place of mine because I like what he writes. It is a different me every time. A stranger in the mirror and yet they are all me hidden somewhere. Oh how much id like to compile them all together into one being. And the irony of it all is that I was born a concoction of genes from two like you all and yet I look for the one that I am.