Who was I?

Who was I then? I don't know. I have no idea. I read some of these old writings about those I loved and lost, and yet, it all feels vague or superficial. I don't remember feeling that way. The yearning I had for whoever the subject has died and has been buried, and has been long forgotten. Sometimes, I thought, I could read through old love letters regardless of whether I was the author or recipient, and those old feelings, though diluted and meaningless today, would drift back as nostalgic flotsam. Alas, no, the emotion tied to those memories has been lost forever. Who was I, back then? Was none of it real? I remember the forgeries, though. I remember whittling the edges off of square pegs and embellishing some truths and stuffing others away into what I thought was non-being. Karmically speaking, perhaps these truths that I hid are now resurfacing, and in turn are stuffing away the falsified feelings into actual non-being.

That is to say, I do not wish to cheapen any emotional tie that I used to have but own no longer. They were all important, even if they weren't right. The meeting of people, be it trivial or obviously significant, will instantly change another person forever. These ghosts I have, even though I can't hear them anymore and even if I could, what they say holds absolutely no meaning to me now, does not mean that who they were when they were alive in my mind is no longer significant. It's just that I can't recognize who I was when I met them.

I know who I am now, much better than I did then. I feel as if I am back on my path and I can trust my feet. My heart, though she is wild and enslaved by my mind, is content and hopeful.