The deconstruction of a life to rebuild a new one is a tedious task, but I’m hell bent on starting it. I look around me: old furniture, old nick-knacks, old items that once held a memory, or perhaps captured a memory now laid to rest. Regardless of how it entered my life, I now find myself feeling claustrophobic with clutter from the past, and desire to be rid of it.

It is my hope that through letting go I will find some sort of satisfaction, or perhaps some sort of peace, that has long eluded me. That has escaped me because of these distracts that weight down my mind. If only all this was as easy as it sounds. It’s difficult to let go. It’s hard to say goodbye. It’s a trial to move on, and to stop looking back on what-ifs and could-of-beens.

I’m becoming a firm believer that sometimes you do need to bury the past, or it’s liable to haunt you and bury you instead. Let’s have a toast: to forging a new future, and laying to rest what no longer matters not. Brining the means to end so a new path can begin. *raises wine glass* Goodnight.

Eternally,
Romantic Torment
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