I run from the past as if it's a monster. It is a monster that threatens with its long baring claws, it says to forget everything that I have. I spend every day trying to forget about the past, but as the days have gone by, I'm merely living in it. I'm drowning in the monster that haunts me day and night. It's nothing but a fragment of memories from yesterdays, but I couldn't breathe in it; it suffocates me until I'm emptied to dust.

And it makes me a coward, an inferior being and a mere fool in the face of everything.

I changed myself. To be stronger, to be brave— though changes don't just come in circles, it's a gradual and eventual change that I thought I'd have to go through to overcome my fears. I feared of returning to the past, like how I'd revert back to the old, naive me. I hated that feeling in my chest and the wrenching in my guts. I hated. I feared.

I must have died not having lived at all, I was just walking straight with closed eyes. I chose not to see, I chose not to care— in the end, this probably… isn't the life I wanted to live as.