Where we've gone and where we'll be

We are constantly in flux

Finding oneself is hard in an ever changing world.
Who am I today might tomorrow be absurd.
The quirks that I hate so much may in time be what I miss
Perfection isn't possible when we constantly are transfixed

Or are we perfect in the state of who we are?
The present tense is future perfect version of our start
The bittersweet remembrance of who we were before
Should remind us of how far we've come
And how much further there is to go.