"When did you last see your mother?" someone asked me. Someone who was walking with me in the city. I didn't want to tell her; I thought in this city, a past was precisely that. Past. Why do I have to remember? In the old world, anyone could be a creation, the past was washed away. Why would the new world be so inquisitive?

"Don't you ever think of going back?"

Silly question. There are threads that help you find your way, and there are threads that intend to bring you back. Mind turns to the pull, it's hard to pull away. I'm always thinking about going back. When Lot's wife looked over her shoulder, she turned into a pillar of salt. Pillars hold things up, and salt keeps things clean but it's a poor exchange for losing your self. People do go back, but they don't survive, because two realities are claiming them at the same time. Such things are too much. You can salt your heart, or kill your heart, or you can choose between the two realities. There is much pain here. Some people think you can have your cake and eat it. The cake goes mouldly and they choke on what's left. Going back after a long time will make you mad, because the people you left behind do not like to think of you changed, will treat you as they always did, accuse you of being indifferent, when you are only different.

"When did you last see your mother?"