Imagine that instead of aging like we do with each passing year, adding wrinkles and changes to this one package we carry around with us for our lifetime, that we rather left behind a dead body of that year and started again with another at the start of the new one. Every year, you leave behind a body, just as dead as though you passed. It held the person you were in that year and up to that year, encapsulated in physical form.
Returning to this place is like trying to get back into one of those discarded bodies, those used selves. I don't fit and I can never make it work again. The machine is broken and neither I nor it wants us to be together again. Beyond that, it is an impossibility. I cannot return to the used self. I am either who I am now or something else, but I can't fit me into something old and done. That self that belonged here is long done.
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