We make new memories,
the old ones may fade,
but they never fully disappear,
always lingering on the cliff of our minds,
never quite succumbing to the void,
haunting us, they come flooding back,
with the most simple of triggers,
dragging us back into the spiraling haze,
keeping us for a time, trapped in our own past,
as if unable to rid ourselves of the old broken parts,
they cannot be discarded, but instead grow,
and tack themselves on to the already bloated mess,
intertwining themselves into the issues of our present,
it all comes full circle,
one would be a fool to live on believing otherwise,
a fool... or a lucky bitch.