It's a new day, and the old songs don't bring tears to my eyes anymore.
The stories haven't ended badly yet, there's still a future for us to claim.
That little girl that I left stuck in the pages of my poetry is going to be okay, she'll be just fine living her dreams; her beautiful bright future.
It was okay to box up my past and put it in the attic, the pictures of my dad and poems about Satan.....
I'm okay.
I can finish the story, not the way I planned it....but maybe better.
I'll start over: one, two, three....easy like cake.
I promise it couldn't hurt me anymore, it wouldn't hurt me from passing by; which it will pass.
Isn't that an Alcoholics Anonymous thing?
"This too shall pass"?
And so it shall.....
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