When I look back on old love poems,
Re-read snapshots of things I once felt,
The words feel like lies...
Like theater...
Historical fictions...
That former me seemed so satisfied...
So happy and content...
Present me repeats that old phrase,
"Ignorance is Bliss..."
I try to downgrade the former experience
As ignorance of the facts...
"How could I have known?"
Looking back on old emotions,
It's difficult to see what I once saw...
The words were honest at the time,
But time is a measurement of change...
Although they no longer feel honest,
If shared for public consumption,
They also seem almost innocent,
And most definitely naïve...
Foolish...
These snapshots...
I judge myself harshly for my folly,
Sometimes...
And sometimes
I don't regret the experiences at all...
Just exploring the reality construct...
Learning about it is like that...
The ups, the downs, and every other point on the waveform...
How people change!
Almost interesting, from a psychological perspective...
At least mildly tragic, from the standpoint of experienced emotions...
Don't regret past loves,
That binds you to the past with chains
If they are memories of trauma...
Just know that everything is everything else...
You didn't necessarily waste your time...
Things have to be precisely weighed...
Pain vs. pleasure; love vs. lesson...
Reading those old amalgams of words
With different eyes
Are the pen marks on the frame of the door,
Each with date they were recorded
Inked right beside...
It measures change,
Which can, unfortunately, be sideways of growth, at times...
The wheel has to turn...
It's what it does...
That undulating spiral
Twisting in the currents of perceived time...
There is a center point,
And everything spins away from it
Like glossy paint splatter crawling to the edge
Of a rotating canvas...
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