About the Past
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Open up the windows of memory let life bounce around the walls Exsplore the steps of memory down the passageway of halls let the joys of life swing open swing open memories doors
The castle stands stoic on the hill; The town has sprouted through the centuries around it. In the cobbled courtyard, merchants come to market, Yammering about the goods piled precariously on their tables.
Dear 13-year-old Juliana, Things will get better. Slowly but surely, you will discover that have anxiety, Which explains why you are the way you are.
Ezra E. Ohly 165 East Street Wellington, Oh 44090 Dear past self, I wish you the best for what is to come.
This isn't a letter of bitter regret This isn't a letter I thought I would send But sitting here now, after it all Feeling unwanted, feeling so small,
To the introverted, frightened girl I was: It may sound generic but you need to know. Things will fall into place. There will be tears and loneliness.
I walk paths that were paved long before my existence Voices and laughter that once echoed for miles are now replaced by the faint wind The movement of my feet cause the dust
Eyes closed Light vanishes and I suddenly Become a target to my past
Torn and Broken Holes and Stains A lost wheel, A missing stitch Time moves on Some forget , Some do not We used once..... everyday, all day, all the time Now in dust, to rot and rust
I’d skin myself alive if it meant I could stop feeling your hands crushing my chest.
From time I find myself thinking aboutJanuary 2015 but it's April 2017.
A year in review, A time to be new There are regrets and qualities met. When I consider my goals and some of their roles, I realize how much I've grown
There are many times I have wished to go back, to change the past. Should’ve said this, Should’ve done that. The list goes on and on… But this is not a movie, And I don’t have a time machine.
My mind of youth, days of past so confused so deluded. Unknown grounds rocky roads, departed souls. Entwined in a world of poisonus minds, Life's trap door tryna fade the pain..The pain of life, life's pain plan.
The dim yellow beam of the flash light carves a path through the clutter of old tools and antiques
One day, We'll wake up and realise, For that last 3 generations, We haven't been living Not really There isn't even a pattern Any more No one wants to work No one wants to live