Those who knew me, don't know me anymore. Those who know me, don't know me at all. Those who will know me will know a part of me that I yet do not know.

We lavish more attention onto our past, after its done, than in the making of it. as a result; "What is done" and "Could have been" becomes ruthless killers lurking in the darkness of our consciousness.

It's a tiring game resenting the scars and the fearful memories.

… so delicate, but potent. It makes us a bit more human--is that ache in your heart for a place [or someone] that no longer exists... a sneaky magician. One that takes us by surprise in the most lucid way possible.