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Yesterday Still Lives Here The heartless passage of time always leads me back to that same road, the one I’ve wandered a thousand times in my mind. “It’s all in the past," they say, as if words could build walls strong enough to hold the things that refuse to be locked away. As days fade into years, memories swell into an endless sea within me, and its waves—restless and unyielding—return again and again, breaking against the fragile shore I’ve tried so hard to protect. I still ask myself—why can’t I let go? Why does the future press against me when there is no promise I will ever walk beneath its light? And how am I meant to stay anchored in the present when the past pulls me backward and the future whispers forward—each unwilling to let me be? But destiny has always been a stubborn thing—when it comes, it does not knock softly. It arrives like a tide you cannot outrun, and all you can do is step aside and let it pass. And fate? Fate does not wait for readiness, nor does it ask for permission. It moves through you like a ghost—cold, unseen—leaving only shadows where something whole used to be. And maybe that’s why I’m still here—still wiping tears from my face with the worn fabric of yesterday, still cradling the broken edges of a story that no longer belongs to me. M. | March 2025


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