I cling miI cling to this memory, unable to let it go, it has become my anchor, the ideal by which I measure myself.

It is the reflection of my mistakes, which I obsessively seek in it, and at the same timeand the key to the fulfillment of my longings, which have no place in the present.

Every dip into this past world leads to a comparison with my emotions today, a reassessment that fascinates and torments me in equal measure.

Is this memory my salvation or my shackle? A tool that helps me or a barrier that cuts me off from reality?

I lose myself in this dichotomy, unable to decide whether I should find refuge in it or whether it should keep me in chains.tea constant wavering between past and present that pulls me into a maelstrom of disorientation and tension.