I wanted to burn away— to ashes— everything from the past. From last year's, many years' back, or even yesterday's. Memories, pain, laughter, objects, places, everything. I wanted to throw them away into the distant sea, never to dig them from the earth's soil again. I didn't know why, and neither did I question myself, but I merely wanted to forget.
And I was naively happy a few years back, but I didn't like it then, and I didn't like it now. I hated how I sounded, how I looked and how I spoke— and so I wanted to erase everything, start anew and become myself. I can't ever be the person I want because of all the burden I'm carrying, like stones on my shoulders just tearing me apart.
I hated everything about me. Maybe I was weak, like a child trembling in front of a giant. And maybe I didn't do all the things I could have done, so I might have blamed myself and the world. Things that have gone by won't come back again, and I too, once gone, will never be the same.