I cling to the past like water droplets cling to the car window after a rainstorm
whether the memories are good or bad
or somewhere in between
they always stick to my cerebrum like a grain of rice on a stove's burner
flashbacks become reoccurring movies in the middle of math class
I remember the beautiful and light times of when life was a mystery
when I was eager to experience
and I remember the times where I was forced to grow up too quickly
the times when I felt as if I was dying
my soul refuses to let me move on
to bury the past
to seal the cracks I've been trying so hard not to fall through all these years
but the older I get
the more I remember
and the more I slip.
