These memories sting my eyes and stain my skin with darkness but soon, like the smoke lifting upwards through the trees, they will dwindle and fade.
I used to carry a lot of my emotions around, almost literally. I would keep journals and books filled with my thoughts and emotions and struggles. Daily accounts of times when I felt not good enough or lost. Pages of torment assigned by my own brain and by other people. I kept them for no other reason than because I was scared to let them go.
A few months ago I lit them all on fire and felt the words and memories turn to nothing but ash.