And so then, they come to visit you. Sometimes. Old selves. One timid, another vibrant, yet another shy, while another is bold. They merge, they split. Like kaleidoscopic visions. And in them, merge times and spaces. Flighty feathery fictional selves. Dancing to the tunes of abrupt memories. None speaks. Language is redundant. You've lived a time in a different space with each one of them. They who are fictional today were you, once upon a time. They emerge like spirits having risen in the dim light of recollections. Or old tenants, perhaps, who have nothing more to do with the old space called you. There are no unsettled dues. No matters that need sorting. Just a tableau of figures your present self witnesses resignedly...like unnecessary concentric ripples formed suddenly in still waters. You have nothing to worry about, technically, for you have been at peace with each one of them and quite happy with each other so long as they were you. And yet the discomfort of sudden emergences...the embarrassment at an unannounced crowd of visitors.

Droplets of dew silently settle on the hyphen punctuating your span of life so far.