The Ember Garden

Past Lives

The past is trying to catch up
Memories are sauntering close
Claustrophobia's setting in

Those moments I hate
Those memories I loathe

The "me" I ran away from
The "me" I tried ridding the world from

She's chasing behind
She's coming to get me

Tidal waves crash over
The memories fill my lungs

They've got me in chokehold
They won't let me breathe

I wish I could run away
It'll be the last time I swear
Just like the past times I've said

Maybe they come around for they're meant to
Maybe I'm not supposed to run
Maybe they're after me for a reason

Do I really want to run away
Do I really want to hide again

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Being alone in the park didn't make me feel scared, it made me feel... blank instead and I don't know which would've been worse.
I continued walking around in the moonlit grounds until my feet began to hurt. So I sat down and decided to sort out my thoughts.

The world felt still. The chirping of crickets echoes through me and I felt empty. It wasn't a hole in my heart that I felt. I suppose it was my mind that felt hollow instead. It's hard to explain it, really, but I felt complete yet empty. Like a dresser that's been finished but not filled.
I hated feeling this way. It makes me wonder what the purpose of life is; I mean, I know it, but it's rather like what is the purpose of this moment.

I had nothing to do and that made me feel even more miserable. I had no idea what should be done and why this all was happening. I was clueless, without a hope. A chilled breeze awoke from repose and wove through the park, rattling straight down my spine. The silence was deafening. I couldn't hear it anymore so I began walking around again.

Pulling my cardigan closer to my chest, I set out. I walked in the direction of the pond. The ducks were no longer to be seen and the water lay steady. The wind was slightly colder near it but I kept on walking. I meandered my way past the pond, through the swing sets and was now in an open ground. Was it the same one where I just came from or is this park just really huge?

I kept on walking forward for a good thirty minutes and ended up facing a pond...

I tried my best to look around in the dark and maybe find where the forest was or where the entrance might be. The trees blended in with the mist and it all looked the same.
The thick fog caught up in my throat, as I walked further, restricting my lungs from doing their job. I turned in every direction and none of it looked any different than the other. I felt heat rise up my neck and so I sat down to stop myself from panicking. This felt like a fever dream where you keep on running but the hallway never finishes.

I looked down; it was something I had grown used to doing when I felt ashamed. People say there's nothing to be ashamed regarding anxiety and panic attacks, but they really don't get it. You don't feel guilty; in fact, you don't know how to feel at all so you look down in attempts of trying to stop feeling.

I don't really hate myself, I just say it to get rid of my negativity. But there are certain things that make me wish the world wasn't the way it is.

My eyes scanned over every mark and scar on my hands; every curve and every line was traced with fragments of the past. Every memory and incident resurrected and climbed out of its grave in my heart.

I hate how everything preserves time, and how that piece of time holds a part of you. So it's like tiny things hold you. Which means that every version and every part of you still lives and will continue on, even when you don't. The version of you sprawled across the living room couch or the time when you pulled your hair out on the bathroom floor. The version of you that danced around in the rain or smiled through the sun kissed skies. They're all alive, in not only people's memories.

All those moments don't just float around in time, they're preserved. Every moment is there. The floor still holds your touch and the raindrops still enjoy your warmth. Your skin still has the cold touch of raindrops and warmth from the summer Sun lingering on it, though to you it may not be there anymore. I guess the most literal sense that could be made out of this is how certain moments of your life are marked on your skin. Even the lines on your hands hold your past.

Everything pieces together to tell the tale of your life.

I don't know whether I loathe it or admire it. I love the idea of it, but in reality it can be a bit overwhelming. I don't want all those moments to live but I also don't want them to wither away.

I began to feel the fatigue catching up with my thoughts and my eyelids got heavy. I wasn't sleepy though; I didn't want to sleep; how could I sleep in such a situation. My brain decided to go against me anyways and my head began floating around, beginning to dream already. I was fully awake yet dreaming. My eyes were open yet darkness crept into my vision and soon took over.