I am a graveyard of my former selves. The sum total of every person I have been and might possibly be. Every minute that ticks by, a part of what makes me, me dies. Fallin' into a pit of skeletons, struggling to fit in the jam-packed space.
And people don't know this, it's like they've refused to understand that I am not longer the me they knew. I've become a changed person, strugglin' to fit into the space they expect me to fit into;
to still laugh at their jokes,
to still hold their hands,
to still understand their pain,
to still appreciate their smile,
to still follow their reasons.
To still be the me they had knew.
But that part of me is dead, impossible to resurrect.
Some parts of me have been dead for so long the bones have turned ash.
And every once in a while I take a flower to the graveyards of former selves reminiscing on the road they travelled. Wonder where they died and how much of me they took along.
did they find peace?
will they be proud of what's left of me?
