Poem For The Weekend #76

we do not grow absolutely, chronologically.

we grow sometimes in one dimension,

and not in another; unevenly.

we grow partially. we are relative.

we are mature in one realm, childish in another.

the past, the present, and future mingle

and pull us backward, forward, or fix us in the present.

we are made up of layers, cells, constellations.

anais nin