“Like splits in a path, fractured and crawling as a web, the choices map my story.”

As time passes, my solid memories are dislodged from themselves.  They start to float free in the level of possibilities. Some may call it forget. I may call it selective remembrance.  Time shapes things like the gentle trickling of water.  Steady and predictable.  Constant and pure.  Inevitable and powerful. Plate tectonics are real, but no-one can feel the plates shift.  Even the ones in earthquakes can't believe what they experienced was real.  

If I went back in time, would I make the same choices I did the first time around?  Would I blame circumstances, or own my mistakes? Would I even make the same mistakes? Paths are chartered with big moves and small.  Best to be on top of your game at all times. But we aren't.  That's what makes us human.