the past is a sticky phantom, always following close at my heels. a dogged and tireless pursuit, it turns each hurried step into a marathon of monotony, a cacophony of rushing wind, and makes me a passive spectator to this endless landscape.
but what is the true power of this creature that follows me?
would its unshakeable gait trample me the moment i falter?
i have half a mind to sidestep our raging, incessant choreography. to lose my footing in this field of blooming flowers, to look up at a canvass sky and paint it with my creation. i want to tumble down the side of this apex, discover higher peaks by traversing new lows. and if my covetous past finally catches me, in some far off land it never thought to look, i’ll be unrecognizable.
a new face, tattooed by fear and joy and love and pain. a painted smiling face, borne of purposeful memories, that no longer hides in fear of a tainted, hungry past.