People often say they are haunted by their past.

They wish to move on to the future,

but history pulls itself at their feet.

I am not among them.

I claw at my memories as the years pass by,

a desperate attempt to return to the person I used to be,

and the world she knew so well.

To outgrow yourself is pain.

The world around you spins into a blur,

Unfamiliar and unforgiving.

The ground you crawled across as a child,

Covered in shards of glass.

Catching glimpses of yourself in passing reflections.

“That’s not the me I remember.”