Past

I don’t know why people think the past is romantic. Why do they revel in reunions or visit historical monuments?

The past wants a voice in the present, but forgets it has already lived its present. Now it needs to let others live out their present.

The present peeks into the past, only to be reassured of being better.

Plastic flowers behind iron gates, epitaphs and monuments all need to be left wherever they are – prisoners of the times they lived in. 

The soul has moved away. Only interpretations remain.

Different eras should have different colors and a different feel.

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