Trying to remember.
What was like when we were a baby.
What we did yesterday.
How the cosmos was born.
What existed before existence.
Not for a moment can we ever contemplate.
That in a world without memories there is nothing else than our self.
Being.
Like a baby alone in the world.
Crying.
Not out of fear.
But because it knows it all.
And it can still remember that not so long ago.
It was not even born…
Poetic Philosophy 
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