The past is not a rock we drag, but a bridge we have crossed, teaching us the weight of our next steps. The burden lies not in the events themselves, but in our clinging to the illusion of returning to them. True light does not come from denying yesterday, but from accepting the storms we weathered as beacons. And when we look back, we find that every stumble was a cornerstone for a more expansive future, and that the dawn of tomorrow is born only when we free our hands from the remnants of yesterday.
About the Creator
Mo,Ghandour
1. "A lifetime journey demanding much love and minimal ego.
Keep reading
More stories from Mo,Ghandour and writers in Poets and other communities.
Memory Boxes
Memory is not an archive of the past, but a frozen present in which we live without pause. Every time we try to bury what hurts, it returns to grow more vividly in the soil of our dreams. We are prisoners of stories we ourselves created, opening their old boxes not to retrieve them, but to confirm that the pain is still alive. It is the greatest deception; we imagine we are moving forward, while we are merely orbiting the events we once refused to forget.
By Mo,Ghandour2 months ago in Poets
Comments
There are no comments for this story
Be the first to respond and start the conversation.