Past is like an old closet full of clothes,
which opens with a cracking sound.
Some are still new, but some tore.
Some you would love to try again,
but some you never wore.
Some stained with precious memoirs,
but some stained with dark secrets.
Some smell like positive vibes,
but some smell like painful maim.
Some fits you like a glove,
but some too short to fit your heart.
Yet you don't discard any of them,
You hold on to them like you can
only survive by grabbing this straw.
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