We long for what is not,
A past person, a past place,
A past experience, a different plot,
Imaging another time and space;
Our “now” feels like defeat,
But escape to there is only temporary,
The mind’s inward retreat;
Is this now only life ordinary?
We cannot predict the twists and turns of reality,
But traveling internally to future fantasy,
Whisking ourselves away from present difficulty,
Or experiencing the ghosts of past ecstasy;
Is sometimes, the only control we can find,
A lingering illusion of the mind.