The past is a time gone by. Of smiles and tears that mean nothing more than nostalgia, nothing more than a half remembered smile on a lazy, idle afternoon, sipping on iced tea while looking out onto either the house next door or the hustle and bustle of the swarming mass of humanity gaily clothing the pavement below. But a half remembered smile is a smile none the less, and given importance it shall be! Fondness grows out of that nostalgia, and this fondness grows like a disease.
It grips your heart and rips out from it a plethora of emotions- emotions that confound and confuse you, that obstruct you, that frustrate and enrage you and grow on you like a worm eating it's way through an apple, like a cancer slowly eating away at your heart, at your whole being, chipping away at that whole self that you built up after that first time you broke down.
I spew venom tonight, and not without reason. The past is a dangerous thing if not forgotten, the past is your personal hell, your very own little prison that will hold you and bind you in your own self, in your own actions and your own consequences. I say this, as much to myself as to everyone else, don't look back. In anger or otherwise.