2 AM and it’s snowing outside. Tomorrow, we’re all going to wake up monochromatic. A one-color world. Can you imagine?

You know, it’s sort of a funny thing – things change, but the past never does. I can sit here staring out the window for an eternity, I can move across the country, I can start a new life in a new place with a new name, but it doesn’t matter.

No. It doesn’t matter because the past is the past, and it never changes.

I wonder if you know how it feels – to be so complete, and then, just as quickly, come to the realization it’s so completely over.

So done.

So, so done.

I could run, but the past always finds you; binds to you like an unwanted shadow. Drags you down into an ocean of memory as though you were thrown in with a weight around your ankles.

People think that drowning is a peaceful way to die. It’s not.

But here I am in the middle of a snowstorm, drowing in memories of you, and hating myself for ever even thinking about crying.

No. The past never changes.