So sinfully retrospective, the recollection of lost thoughts.
The misplacement of memories, left in the shadows.
A sudden nostalgia of course, fading out your existence
in order to be appreciated solely. Myself.
So sinfully jealous, the past memories can be.
They always linger, even when seemingly invisible.
Wanting to move on, though we’re held by strong forces,
waiting to be acknowledged before they can let go.
We stopped living to start things; we’re in love with the past.
Old trends become new; new trends don’t last.
New ways to make art are canvases already painted upon,
We innovate, no, we re-create. Mending already-broken hearts.
Living for the moment goes against the grain, doesn’t it?
We’re too shy, too afraid, too badly focused on wanting to be “normal”.
Though, normality in itself is crazy,
because why would you want to be like them?
Unique: just like everybody else.