Somewhere, there's a tunnel, lined on either side with memories, moments of my life where things changed. I can trace my path to this very moments through those memories. Every so often, I'll stop at one, heart beating against the inside of my ribcage, expanding, contracting, expanding, contracting, wishing that I could go back to that moment, because that's when things went wrong. But there's only one way out, and that's forwards - memories are just memories; books written, paintings finished, photographs taken and developed, stories told, songs composed - done, unchangeable. You can't try to stop the world with a tear.
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