Don't you just hate when you're confronted with your past?
You think the storm has passed, that it's OVER and DONE...
Somehow you're reminded by the fact that you went through all that, over and over.
And you'd just like to put it all in a little box, send it by mail to somewhere far far away with no return.
There's no way I can ignore it, 'cause I'm confronted by it everytime again.
Is it all my fault? I'm starting to believe my own, senseless thoughts.
