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I’ll admit

that I’m a result

of all the decisions I’ve made in the past;

all the people who have influenced me,

in a positive or a negative way:

my loves, my breakups, my disappointments.

Without them, I wouldn’t be me

but, I don’t carry them on my back

they don’t define who I am now.

I create myself

from moment to moment;

otherwise,

what is the point of living?

The past is faded, imprecise memories —

people who are no longer what they seemed to be —

a view from a faulty lens.

I have baggage —

everyone does.

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