On the present

If the past is our enemy and the future is our friend, the present must surely be our lover. Fickle, eloquent, withholding. Revealing enough to tempt us, secretive enough to fool us; and we love to be fooled. We crave its ephemeral nonchalance as much as we neglect to conceptualize its influence on tomorrow. So we play, and we tease, and forget. Until our delusions have become the past. Then we either regret or become the nostalgic ghost of our former selves. But we cannot live there, and we cannot grow.
We can only linger.

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