Blank Pages of the Past

When we are born we are told how lucky we are to grow up in a modern society. Told how lucky we are to start over with a blank slate. Like the pages of a notebook, waiting, wanting, wanting to be filled with writing. And I think that's why I write stories, poems, songs, it feels right to write. What a funny saying. "Right to write". Some things are funny like that in life, sometimes they're not. Most times jokes are harsh. They fill my head. I guess that's why I write, just to get my thoughts out, get them organized. Sometimes my head is so jumbled it feels like I'm sinking in the ocean and can't tell up from down. Maybe that's why I love the ocean, I feel connected somehow. What has the ocean gone through? Sometimes I wonder about the past. People talk about past lives and sometimes, I just wonder, what if Alexander the Great is walking among us today, unaware. What even happens to our past selves? Time is always moving, never static. Are they lost? Or are we lost? Is everything lost? Is it possible to rewrite history?