Memories, people say are treasures. They are like those little boxes that we hid beneath the ground, only to find them years later and cherish those moments of solitude. They say it feels good and that those moments are priceless. It is a lie. A huge lie told by an old liar. Memories; memories are dangerous beings. They are a guillotine that waits for its turn to kill. The moment you let yourself bend down to it, it does its deed and so are memories. They kill us. They destroy us. The memories that kill my very being is the reality of my life, they are the truths that will remain ingrained in the fabric of my life story. How I curse the day, the moment these memories were birthed to!
Copyrights @ 2016 Elsa Thomas.