The Measure of Me
You look at me expectantly as you pontificate
on the memories of your past,
Piecing together a well-cut jigsaw of years and dates.
You punctuate your impromptu monologue
with unspoken question marks.
But my memories are unlabelled photographs:
Freeze-framed stills and colourful silent movies.
The soundtrack runs separately
like a poorly dubbed foreign film
and I squirm uncomfortably as I fail to recall
a single significant date.
Yet I cannot feel less for the lack of accuracy.
My #life is my present -
A gift to be enjoyed, discarded, forgotten
and picked up again with new-found rapture
Each and every day.
My past has moulded me, through action
and emotion, to the woman I am today.
The mother I try, fail and aspire to be
Each and every day.
My past has made me who I am but
It is my present which is the measure of me.
Dates and times belong in the history books.
My #life belongs to me.