“So we beat on, boats against the current, borne back ceaselessly into the past.”
– The Great Gatsby

The past
I laugh to keep from crying
It trails me from afar
In a way I can never predict
It bites me when I’m tired
It hovers when I’m sick
I have given all I have to fight it
Or I may never win

It sits there haunting me
Like a regret but more subtle.
It’s not that I haven’t gotten over it
It’s because I am worried it isn’t done with me

Maybe it’s my fault
Thinking it might shatter my grand illusion
But I shouldn’t be worried
As long as I who I say I am
Maybe that’s my sin
That I may just fall apart
and all I will be left with is him.