Life is an ocean into which we can stream though different avenues. Does it matter what little rivulets we are made up of? Or what paths we flowed through and what dirt we left behind?
We all meet and cross at some point… sometimes together and sometimes apart. Does it really matter where we came from?
Where we came from perhaps forged us. Gave us those very characteristics that made us special… but does the new streams we mingle into need to know our past, our stories. It is a curious thing… because I think not and then someday I catch myself wondering why someone is the way they are. What incident prevailed to create that particular ridge in them… and so we go back, even if we don’t want to.
Should we go back? Doesn’t life really begin at the moment when we meet?