Odd thought-I think not

Looking back at the past I can see clearly now what appeared vague then. Truly the days were no different. Every day is another day, and what was then remains the same to this day. Perception never really drastically changes so much that you can nearly consider your mind having been divided or even metamorphosed, similar to snowfall upon the pale barren vastness of the arctic. The difference in part really amounts to the equivalent overall. It only evolves with each thought, constantly mixing emotion with memory and memory with reality so as to create an image of what was then in a new shapeless mirage now. It will never take form until it becomes a memory.

So this I conceived upon reflections of earlier pretenses I had held and it paints a blindingly inconspicuous reality of what I could've believed then was only mistaken misfortunes, rarified perceptions, and simple ignorance. The common trait of any new adventurer is to believe that their direction has no boundary and is the right path. Under any and all circumstances, movement is justified by a simple belief that if one has not traveled, then travel one must! I of course am not necessarily referring to physically traveling around the globe or to any point of destination but rather I am referring to the journeys that one ventures forth on in the initial days of mistaken independence. The early days when Mom and Dad knew not a thing about love or school or life in general. The days when the sun was never as bright as the golden haired gal sitting at the corner in the back row of your social studies class. And on that one night when your eyes anxiously glistened beyond the fantasm of twilight, wrapped tight in your biggest, thickest blanket, your single most favorite tune playing only just loud enough that it wouldn't blast through the divisions of your wall to your parents bedroom but enough to make you feel you could have been front row at a private, intimate show; door locked, lights out, phone in ear listening to the voice of whomever it mattered enough to consider risking a month of your social life for the sake of fulfilling one quiet night in the arms of the one on the opposite end of the line in the middle of the lonely local park. If only the parents could have understood what it meant to be alive that night.

Is this what those days were for? To prove true what was rejected by any chosen entity is nearly habitual to everyone for reasons only known to the oppressed. In fact it is how we define our individuality. To prove to ourselves the meaning of our past- that is the true purpose of recollection. But does the past really mean anything? If you can shape the ideas that and connotations of the present simply by preferred or influenced auto-suggestion of whatever particular thing may be the object of scrutiny, could you not then redefine the significance or even the entire event occasioned in a memory with the a flicker of the eye and the rub of the nose; capped by a twitchy nod of the head?