nostalgic gulp

past november

you love and hate regardless of what happened.
the shoebox splitting with memories, leaving your bedroom carpet to look like a crime scene.

the old birthday cards that feel so unbearably real, scattered and bent across the letters and diary entries of loving girlhood.

the fruit of your labour squeezed into a dark red wine shade of past reminiscent tragedies.
the self-destructive button pressed in routine.
you still question why, ponder the curiosity with wonder, the answer is yet to come for you.

the answer could be under your old bed, or in the school books you once wrote in, or even right next to you. you'll know when your ready and when your ready you will finally be at peace with yourself, that's all you had every wanted. to let go of the restraint ropes holding you back, no more self punishment.