It does not do well, to dwell in the pass. Much more, only those commonly known to hurt, was what one so blindly choose to retain within it's grasp. Strong hard clutch that one do no want to loosen, not even slightly. For so afraid you were of what it might caused. Be it that as it was, what else are left? For what that should not been forgotten, is lost, forever. And still one does not have the courage to abandon it, and allow the grieve to continue, mourn over a death that was so long ago, for the ashes itself has fully diminished to a land that none know. Yet, for as long as one hold on, it can still be called hope, even if it's already dead, buried deep six feet beneath us. What does it take, to wake one from a deep sleep full of nightmares, to be free from the doom that they so foolishly cast upon themselves? But do not be troubled or blinded by the darkness you unwarily condemned yourself to. For even the thickest foundation can be penetrated, by the slightest temptation, for once it went astray, I fear there is no turning back, for a new route now opens, right before your eyes. It is none, but yours, for which to take. But perhaps, to sway a little, just a little, from the road that was deemed right, could indeed bring new life to the hopeless one. For yet, we may not know.