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Our past haunts the present reverberating backwards and forwards our lives, a missing piece of a puzzle that continues to ache even in its absence like a ghost standing just out of eyesight in a rearview mirror of consciousness like an aeroplane stuck between two dimensions, a prisoner of time, a spectral companion that whispers half-truths and shadows, a haunting presence that distorts reality, casting elongated and distorted shadows over the present moment, a labyrinth, a maze of regret and longing wishing you could save everybody instead of revealing constant new dead ends.

Our past haunts the present like a spectral companion whispering half-rumours in-between forests like it was a ghost in the rearview mirror or a spacecraft trapped on the outskirts of the atmosphere of our planet, unsure where to turn back towards space or to try and land, rewrite its destiny, do things nobody else had ever dreamed of doing it, writing a new story in between the margins forever seeking redemption in the uncharted territories of the future, a prisoner of echoes, haunted by the spectre of what could have been