I’m angry that I may have to leave the place I occasionally hate,
Only to return to places I’ve tried to forget or at least have tried to not romanticize mentally;
It’s always easy to romanticize that which you once didn’t enjoy,
When something that once was a source of joy & sweetness turns bitter.
I don’t mind being a ghost,
I can even accept being forgotten occasionally;
But I don’t want to be haunted by my past,
And I’m sick of it accomplishing that by trying to convince me that my past will define my future.
I know it will have an effect, but it’s not set in stone.
The future is only a step away
while the past is more of a stones throw;
Like a shattering mirror,
Compared to an unlocked door
not yet to be opened.
Chest pains & dried blood.
Ink stains & torn pages.
While saying goodbye may be difficult,
Considering the bitterness a “hello” can contain;
Goodbye’s are like being asked to carry in groceries,
Rather than carrying a full chest freezer by yourself.
I’m not saying that being with people is bad,
But I’ll never say it’s always good.