Parks, And What They Meant To Me

There’s a lost reason behind what brings us back to these old places.  A thirst that’s out of reach, lost in time with nothing left behind but the aftertaste of regrets that came with it.  I suppose we drag ourselves back here in a futile attempt for relief from their wake, anything to try and scratch the itch it leaves behind.  I don’t consider myself much different, other than the fact that I should know better, but even that doesn’t free me from the same old compulsion we suffer from.  We all have our reasons, our hopes for what might still be left behind to help bring you back to that time you are trying to find.  More over bearing than the scraps left behind is the decay of what used to be beautiful.  The unmistakable sense of loss that cannot be swallowed, not in the face of such a terrible change.  No matter how it makes you feel, the truth is the world doesn’t care, it goes on with our without your consent.  Our biggest disillusion was thinking we could ever stop the change, that we could keep things the way they are “just because it feels right”.  Eventually the excuses tire, and when it comes time to choose the next path, you’d better be ready to move, or to be left behind to join the ghosts that couldn’t take it either.  It has always come down to choice.  Sometimes there are many, sometimes there aren’t any.  But they are ours to make, and they are ours to pay for.