• Memories are hard. The security you feel in a pillow filled with the sanctity of days long lost is a feeling that can’t be healed by fresh experience. They can’t be sold, and like hell would I ever pay to feel that way again- We can’t wash away the past, and even if I could I wouldn’t. Every time I get close enough to touch something remotely recognized as a cotton thought, it stings the back of my eyes and the regret begins to p***k at my entire body. All that’s left is a pillow that I can no longer sleep on, but perhaps rest my head long enough to realize that it’s over now. I have abandoned what I’ve abandoned, and I hate myself for every aspect of it.
    Sometimes, I’d like to stop life dead in my tracks; leave both the memories to sting others for a while, and to ditch every safety blanket, pillow and cushion respectively in the dust- where experience has lead me to believe they belong. I don’t know what to bring with me, or what road I will take, but any leading out of the past I created might give me temporary peace-of-mind.
    The past is something that cannot be stopped. It’s a ruthless force that no government, superhero or god can ever dream of bringing to a halt. It will always demolish the barriers of the human mind, and attacks what means the most to everything we’ll ever be- ourselves. We’re creating our past with every present breath, and every second accumulates until the day we can no longer breathe. We’re doomed to be subject of every movement, word or friend we’ll ever encounter, recite or move. I’m sick of it. I’m sick of living in the past, but it’s the only thing that can haunt you the way phantoms and demons never could. Nobody can say s**t about how happy they are, because all it will ever take is one soft thought you’ll never have again to bring you back down to the enclosed feathers and cotton that will embrace and torture you with the good and the bad of any situation. It’s not necessarily a fact, but it’s my fact that I can’t shake for all the love or money I’ll ever be blessed with. I envy you all who live every day like it’s your last, because I’ll always live everyday breathing the breaths I’ve already exhaled. Sometimes that’s good enough, but for the days like today It never will be.