In my moments of solitude, I think about moments past.
I think about my roles in those moments, and the outcomes generated by my actions or lack thereof.
It’s a weird transformation, from actor to observer — time performing her magic.
I learn from my mistakes and deduce better ways of going about my problems.
I have the perfect answer, solution.
I go over it again and again in my head, willing tomorrow’s “I” to remember when the situation arises.
Then said moment comes and I’ve left my seat of observance.
Hours become minutes,
The power of remembrance is in the repetition,
In the constant reminder of who you want to be,
Of where you want to go.
Who is “I” then?
The “I” that remembers and plans for a better way of expressing itself, or the “I” that goes into battle to confront the daily experience of the human struggle?
Or maybe none of them, for which “I” watches them all?