yemisi's anagnorisis

I'm not really sure how to foreground this but this piece will probably come out as more of a blurt than anything else. Maybe this will turn into a poem of some sorts?

♢

At the end of world book day , no older than 10, I stood uselessly in my witch costume, blue school bag in hand, my mothers hand in the other, encasing mine

wholly.

I looked forward to days like these. Small novelties that were once momentous occasions, now fleeting memories, clouded by time and circumstance. That primary school girl now only lives inside my memories, her existence only validated by mine. Or is she still me? or I another woman in her shape?

On that day, when my costume had lost its purpose, I discovered the true nature of my existence, filled with Alice Oswald's enargeia, a sentence which churned my stomach had formed.

'Time only moves forward'

I refused to dwell on it at the time, but as my current routine met an abrupt end, and I prepare for a new phase of life, the sentence comes back, or maybe it always followed me, and I was too stubborn to acknowledge it.

As I am now, it's almost nauseating to think that one day this will be a distant memory, the only one to authenticate my experiences again, is me.

But who will remember the girl back then?  

♢

i feel like this is kinda weak as a whole it didnt come out how i wanted it, but i hope it was nice to read!