As I run through time I met my younger self and younger child, what can I tell them how? can I make them proud? what stories can I tell them so that they smile and not cringe? Is there a limit to our closeness, are they still a part of me? why do we need to be fragmented just like a hard drive over time.

Do what you must just don’t feel sorry, don’t look at me with two sad eyes, don’t hold my leg you little child cuz I messed up and time has gone. I love you child, I love your face, I love the way you look into my soul and maybe further. I see me grow I see me change I see all the time before today, I am just me, and me, and me, of all the moments I prefer. I seem to keep the good the bad but all I see is strong and fresh, do I still feel the way I did? do I still know the smell of truth? I grow and grow and stick a piece over the ones I had before and so and so become just more, fragmented over time. But do the fragments really matter? o do the numbers really matter? or is the glue that binds them the thing that truly sticks.