Sep 2016
There is no rain to chase.
What is lost is lost.
There is no time to be retained.
What is lost is lost.
There is no gaining back what's gone.
What is lost is lost.
I only keep the memories
that have been embossed.
My body's stitched together with this chaos.
What is lost is lost.
There is no time to be retained.
What is lost is lost.
There is no gaining back what's gone.
What is lost is lost.
I only keep the memories
that have been embossed.
My body's stitched together with this chaos.
This poem inspired by the words of Honest Musings:
"When we hold people close, we also carry their past and everyone they have loved. Their stitches are ours, and every time they open: we sew them up. Every time their memories bleed, we soak the blood with our being.
Like forgotten toys, people stay in the rusty corners of our mind until one day something reminds us of them again. With a terrifying quietness, a sense of nostalgia pierces through everything we have ever been. I wish more of us knew how to be good at forgetting."
"When we hold people close, we also carry their past and everyone they have loved. Their stitches are ours, and every time they open: we sew them up. Every time their memories bleed, we soak the blood with our being.
Like forgotten toys, people stay in the rusty corners of our mind until one day something reminds us of them again. With a terrifying quietness, a sense of nostalgia pierces through everything we have ever been. I wish more of us knew how to be good at forgetting."
