True to form//True to heart

I haven't written in quite some time. And by now, I am not the tortured artist I once was. Go easy.

Each moment slows in time differently for each soul

Mine resonates in the deepest instances

Hindsight may be 20/20, and in the case of rose tinted glasses

Mine is even keener

The pink covers the dirt, shows a different point of view

The boy who once wrote about the scars

Now writes about how they heal as an adult

They say art is built of passion

And mine is no different

The words I write are castles

Risen out of the ruins of broken down homes, distant memories now

I reminisce on the fractured memories like an old friend

To them, I would say

Thank you

For giving me the emotion to write when a pen was all I could trust

The blood that once dripped dries to a dull stain and my words now feel softer

So I pack the old clothes away

And tuck them into a corner with a knowing smile

Someday they will slip from my mind

For the last time