Past Due

The past is a memory that I cannot relive. It used

to be because I wouldn't let myself; I wouldn't let

myself delve deep into the dark pits, the dusty shelves

of my sad memories. Once immersed in the thick,

despondency, it's hard to rid myself of it. Like

tiny pieces of glitter, you find these fits of

sadness in small, unexpected places.

The smell of a book, the smile from a stranger

that is reminiscent of one you once loved, the

feeling that a season brings, the melody to a song,

the feeling of driving down a smooth road in the

middle of the night, just you, your car,

and the white lines,

and suddenly realizing that you miss someone,

you miss how you used to feel,

you miss yourself.

You realize that you're completely alone.

But now, when I bring up the past, not only

do I get sad, but it makes you sad, too.

You believe that the feelings that I once held

are rooted in me, that with just a little bit of

water, these feelings will grow and blossom

again, as they had before they became a

distant memory.

I try to keep it to myself, but it's difficult. I

try to write my thoughts out on this page, but

it's difficult and words just don't seem to do

my thought processes any justice. These words,

no matter which way I will arrange them, no

matter which variety of diction I use, they will

never convey the deep, genuine sadness that

I contain.

The past is a memory that I cannot relive,

but it's all that I long to have back.