Today I looked up at the house where I joined this life in a single bed under a window on a freezing February day with the Beatles at number one my mother and me as one
My conscious memory pages are brown and curling inward to close the windows of my soul would colour my vivid recollections but this I do not wish upon me waves of nostalgia would drown me
Depression is living in the past I've heard this said to my face that post code won't lure me as I reside on anxiety street about the future I'm too busy worrying anything and everything is worrying
All our yesterdays should stay there their taunting can be debilitating we age, our bodies let us down trying to turn back time is futile staying close to loved ones is all we can do living in the present is all we can do
I was born in a house not a hospital. I visited that house today. I viewed it from a safe distance.