Like a delayed reflection in a mirror, an echoed visual of memories, revealed only by absence of distractions, I see what I once was. My past self is a stranger to me now. Seeing a being I barely recognize making pitiful mistakes due to the ignorance that blinds him while he tries to make someone else happy. That ignorance corrupts him, twists his mind and causes him to capsize his reputation and self respect, just for someone else's enjoyment. So when the time comes where silence reigns and thoughts flow freely without struggle, he dwells heavily on the past and is terrified by the thought he may repeat it. Wish us luck.
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The Ripple
PoetryA poem about how people manage to change each other and how after they leave they're miserable with what they did for them
