Going back is a privilege
Only a memory has.
Though what is to come
Holds so much more promise
Than the shadows of the past.
The blinding lights of the future
Certainly hold uncertainty.
I trust in my decisions
I indecisively make.
I tiptoe through mines
Of bankruptcy and heartache
With no promise of an easy life,
A happy ending,
Or a forever after.
But fear not, I shall -
I tire of recurring dreams anyhow.