Incomplete

My identity

Cannot be deduced

At any exact instant;

I am created in each moment;

I cannot stop in the middle of my story

To illustrate my entirety.

I am a scattered collection of memories and soon-to-bes,

Firmly wedged between the entities of past and future,

Equally nostalgic and unsure.

In each moment I am a somewhat clear yet incomplete image

Illuminated by a series of momentary passions

Which I choose not to grant the privilege of defining me.

I am rare like every other human,

An apparatus of individuality,

Albeit through outward insignificance,

Growing in distinction with each passing moment.