Postcard to The Past

The past... Wow, what can I say. All this soon will fade. All this will simply be fetilizer for the future. The past can\\\\\\\'t help but cry, and die... drowning in its own tears (and sometimes its own regrets). The best bet is to know when to walk away and let it all burn down. Like a man casually strolling away from a building he just doused with gasoline after tossing the oh-so-important first match through an open window. That open window is the same open window that I climbed out of. Tell Einstein that I found a window.

I won\\\\\\\'t look back, but rather I\\\\\\\'ll let the light from the fire guide me down some new street. The street lights are never enough. Love comes from something good, warm, and potentially dangerous like the fire. After pausing just long enough to laugh about what I\\\\\\\'ve done, I\\\\\\\'ll begin what I\\\\\\\'ve begun. Snugging up my jacket around my neck, cracking my knuckles, and starting off down the road at a brisk pace. Not running, but moving deliberately enough to let the past know that I\\\\\\\'m done with it. I\\\\\\\'m not fleeing, but there just isn\\\\\\\'t enough room in the present for me, and the past.

After I\\\\\\\'m gone, maybe someone will come along and put out the fire. Whether it all burns to the ground or not is not my concern. I won\\\\\\\'t be around to watch it burn one way or the other. If it does burn down, the ashes will serve as food for the earth...so that a whole new myth can sprout in my wake, taking time to grow straight up out of my footsteps. What I\\\\\\\'ve left will also serve a purpose if someone manages to extinguish the fire before it consumes all. The unlucky soul can take the half-charred remains and try to salvage some more legends out of the spent pieces. To no avail, however, forever has rendered the past dry as a bone... you can try wringing it out as much as you\\\\\\\'d like, but not a drop will fall. I won\\\\\\\'t come calling, and all will be forgotten as the new memories are made. They can read it though... like a newspaper from years ago. History, nothing more. Maybe they\\\\\\\'ll learn from my mistakes...

No matter, however, I\\\\\\\'m too busy embracing the future.

Weather is beautiful. Wish you were here.