My greatest enemy has become my best friend.
All I am against but all that I may ever be.
Mirror images, photographs, glide through an idle mind,
Whispering their words of thought wisdom,
Bringing back memories of what once was,
And returning the lost views of what could have been.
Nothing harder than questioning the reasons of the "why not's"
And nothing more degrading than regret of what did.
Thus, turning away to forget seems effortless,
Though impossible to accomplish a complete blinding.
Do we not forget because it is merely scarred into us?
Or maybe because the answers we need lie in what has passed.
