Maybe We're Both All Right

Along the way, I have seen so much.

There has been laughter, and there has been rain.

Some people have lost things amid the rush of their busy lives.

Some have rummaged through everything in the dead of night, yet still cannot find a single cigarette.

Some try their hardest to become bad, hoping to become bad enough that the kind person will turn back to look at them one more time and say one more thing.

Others try their hardest to make promises while still young enough to avoid responsibility.

It all feels like fireworks, like dandelion seeds. Along with the ivy climbing over the walls, it will all turn a vast swath of red, rustling in the wind.

Where in life are there no stories? There are so many stories, so many memories that can never all be told. It's just that each of us is struggling through our own story, enduring the dust covering us from head to toe while still believing that one rainstorm can wash us completely clean.

I always say this: I'm someone who can't let go of the past. I don't want to throw anything away, so I live like a scavenger.

I'll pick up the stories and write them down for tomorrow.