So it begins, one step that leads to a thousand miles. I can’t even remember when I took the first step. Yet after more than several million steps I cannot remember how it all started. I guess I can go back and look at my diaries. Why am I here. My diaries are more gripes than a descriptive map of the road I have chosen to take. That is the problem when one deals with the past. While I can proofread the very words that foretell what has happened I cannot go back in a physical actual self to correct the past mistakes. We leave that to another universe or verse. What a comforting thought, that they might be multiple verses where everything that we pain about int he now, here and now, this verse, might be or have another version of it in another universe. Why does humanity think about this baffles me.
Correcting the mistakes we make. If only, go back, do what is right. Hindsight. Yes, I am a superhero, Super Hindsight.
If only. We rue the now. Maybe that is the whole chiste as we say in Spanish, Mexican Spanish.
Yet there isn’t any joy to look backwards to things we cannot change. This limbo is ackward indeed. I have been here before.
The question is not why I do not fit. Nor where am I. What then is the question if it even is a query that needs an answer? It is not even where is one to find oneself. The answer then is how.
It ends like everything else: unanswered.
This conversation reminds one of stuff. Stuff I lightly forget. What the f were we talking’bout?