You just stare into the pile you have found. Stare into what you once were. You don’t really know where to start or even where to end; you just know you have to try. You might pick up something out of this pile, some random thing, and it might have something scribbled on it. You might find a number, just some random number, or it might be a name. And there might even be a time in which you even run across some beautiful face, just some unknown face, kind of like the photos that come with a picture frame when you buy it. You may or may not think you know this face, and they may or may not know any of the other faces which you might find, but they will all have that same look in their eyes. That look you just can’t forget no matter how hard you try. And all these items were things you used to hold dear to you, things you set aside to remind yourself if you were to forget. And yet now, you don’t understand, you just don’t remember. You can’t remember what it is you wanted to remember. And of course, the little you do remember comes from the ones that scarred, so to speak. After all, it is our scars that remind us of who we are. They will be those you want to forget the most, and yet amnesia never sets. So you then try to go back to the others, the things you can’t remember, but a tear runs from your eye. You taste its salty contents as it runs down you lips and seeps into your mouth. Such a familiar taste, and strangely reminds you of home. So you try to throw it all aside, and think about now. You try to think about how good things are. But what you remember now is not so great either and it taste like salt too. You might think how can one move forward without knowing what is behind. But then you begin to move the oversized green barrel, this container overflowing in blackened plastic and yellow coated wires, and wait for the next victim to come along…


“Holding onto the past is never flushing the toilet.”
-Robert L. Nichols, Jr.