Catoptrophobia

Somehow I always find myself surrounded by wrinkled paper. I wish I could write words of inspiration... but somehow all these pages end up filled with ramblings of the past. All the things I could have, should have, said; all the nights I left myself for dead are all that I'm left with to make my bed! Sometimes it's not as easy as just letting go, the past isn't what we used to have and miss... but the things we did and can't forget. I've faced them all but they all faced me back and I've done my best to make amends but I've yet to find my own forgiveness. I know I've got my friends- I know I'm not alone... but I find little comfort in what I know does not belong... What I miss is the me that I used to be, but I stood by and watched that good man die!