No matter where I move...

There I am to follow.

I may not have the house, the closets, or the attic, but they still have me.
Buried under twenty years of dust and dirt are the memories that creep in, every time I open that storage door.

The flood of dread that fills my soul is almost unbearable.
The very worst and the very best all packed tightly together in a 10 x 20 in a sad and dark area of town.
This year is harder than most. It was the year my house would have been paid off.
And I realize, I have been trying to start over for two decades now.
And now that it is finally moving into the light, I can't shake of the chill of the past.

Not even a bonfire constructed of all of that house held will burn bright or warm enough to escape.

But, at least I will never have to open that storage door again and feel like I am drowning in a cruel past.

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