It strikes. Out of the blue. Abruptly.
Sometimes it’s the imagination. Sometimes what you did. Sometimes what you chose. Sometimes it’s pure guilt. Most of the times, it’s what you didn’t do or choose.
It’s the loop of paradox.
It strikes again. It breaks. It surfaces when you least expect it.
It stops you from rebuilding. It stops you from rediscovering. It halts.
It comes back. The history. Moving the future.
Never erased.
Figments from the past.
Read somewhere that our lives are defined by our actions, episodes or experiences in the past. Human life is written by one single pen. There is a flash before every action or reaction. We have no control. We are looking in.
It’s not a Déjà vu. It’s the butterfly effect.
Past is an identity, uniqueness that can be memorized, looked back, trapped or dropped dead.
It’s called metamorphosis.
