There is something following me. It is my past. It is my baggage. And it really sucks.
Everytime I think I'm over it, I find I'm not. I still harbour that bad feeling, I still want to cry when I let the memories in, I still carry the weight on my shoulders. And it's not doing me any good.
It's burning in my chest, boiling; a firey red heat. It's waiting to be unleashed on someone innocent who doesn't deserve this bout of hate, or, perhaps even worse, it's waiting to burn inwards. To self destruct its creator. Oh blimey O'Reilly, I didn't bank on this.
What can I do with it? Where do I put it? How do I let it out? Screaming, crying, thinking, worrying are all futile and do nothing but intensify the roaring heat. I want answers, but I know I'll never have them, and I struggle to accept that.
If I could put it in a box, throw it away...if only! Instead, my fingers find my keyboard and I type out these letters, making words, making sense, but still not finding any conclusion.
I can't undo the past, I just have to wait for the anger to fade, or try to soften the pain somehow.
The present is here, the future is hopeful, maybe my baggage will become lighter with time, or maybe someone can help me carry it?
Failing that, I can always hope it gets lost in Munich airport.
****suggestions of constructive outlets for anger welcome****
