I looked in the mirror today,
and I saw the door behind me.
I stared at that door,
confused.
I had closed it,
but now it's open.
I don't want people to see
my past.
I got up
and shut the door,
cutting myself off
from suppressed memories
that threaten to spill
out of me.
I looked back to the mirror.
I looked at myself.
My face had lost the little kid look,
and my features were more prominent.
I looked at my eyes,
and they haven't changed.
They're still the same hazel
that always lean towards blue.
They remind me of the little girl,
I once was.
Well i'm not that little girl anymore,
I got older,
and my past shouldn't bother me,
it's a lesson,
not a regret.
So why do I think it is?
Why can't I learn from it?
I stared in the mirror,
until my mind swirled with memories,
and my eyes filled with tears.
But I refuse to cry,
no more tears,
the past is the past
and I should just let it be.
There's no point in crying over it
if it's already done.
I got older,
and I need move on
into a new stage of my life,
and say goodbye
to the little girl I used to be.

An empty field spread out before you.
remember the time when you came here last,
with your daughter?
It was beautiful.
She was only five.
But you must remember that lovely day.
Now ten years have passed,
and you're back again.
You walked down the path
to a garden in the middle,
fenced off to the world.
The wind seemed to whisper
"Remember Me?"
Goosebumps appeared,
and you shivered.
You saw the stone.
What happened here?
Do you remember?
The sky started to change
to angry dark clouds,
and thunder echoed so loud
you could hardly hear,
but the wind was louder.
So much louder,
and a voice kept crying to you,
"Remember Me?"
"We played together,
in this very spot."
"Daddy do you remember?"
You forced your head to look for the voice,
nothing.
No one was there.
You looked at the stone,
and crouched before it.
One name was carved deep
into the perfect marble stone,
and your heart wrenched with grief.
"Remember Me?"
the voice kept saying.
That sweet childish voice,
dancing in your ears.
But the owner of that voice,
is under the ground.
Never coming up again,
never playing with you again.
As the sky opened up
and the rain started to fall,
You whispered to the sweet voice
"I remember."

A long, dark, winding road,
at night's darkest hour,
this was her safe haven,
it was her perfect flower.

Slowly, on tip toes,
she dances in the middle,
with intricate footsteps,
creating her own riddle.

This peaceful scene,
quickly turns rigid,
as lights fly down the road,
and the body goes limp, and frigid.

Her vision goes blurry,
and her heart goes still,
her perfect flower,
certainly can ****.

Lights fly along,
a long, dark, winding road,
and her story is shared,
so she never grows old.