empty my closet, my pockets...

Memories are sacred to me, and old places I call home. They alone can hold the past, even if they cannot keep it. And it is always a sad sight whenever they start to fade and crumble. But I am not foolish enough to think I can live in them, even if I can't see myself living in the future.

It is common knowledge that one cannot live anywhere but the present. And even in the present one cannot live for she is merely passing through, forever pushing onward running after Time lest she falls behind and gets lost in its labyrinth. Time, after all, flows in many different ways.
'Carpe diem', 'No day but today', they are empty phrases to me. I had a clear idea of what they mean, but now I've forgotten. I find myself as one who is frozen in time, forever reliving moments that have begun to fade in other people's reckoning. Always reluctant to take another step forward, and dreading her last night at the nursery.

I must empty my pockets, I am going on a long journey.

I carry around a lot of thrash in my bag: receipts, flyers, bus tickets, crumpled pieces of paper. I keep them to remind me of the things I did and possibly to keep track of my life as it progresses. Because I cannot simply rely on memory, I need something tangible to tell me how far I've traveled. They make me feel safe and altogether caged.

Funny as it may sound sometimes I feel immortal in those trash. They show me scenes in my existence that will never again be played as long as I am alive. They hold an aspect of myself in them that will forever be immutable. I will never age, commit any more errors, or fade in them. They keep me from changing. They keep me from living.

Empty your pockets, as they say. Keep on moving forward. Indeed, I never knew the meaning of the words until today.

Ah, why am i ranting again?