When revisiting the gravesite of the past, sometimes -- only if we are foolish enough -- do we unearth its casket.
But we must first justify our barehanded and sharp-nailed dig.
This endeavor must be completed to ensure just once more that we have left no valuables behind.
Yes, that sounds about right.
Yank.
Tug.
Pull.
Laugh.
Cry.
Scream.
Deny.
Hope.
Revive.
And up comes the precious corpse of our beloved past.
We bask in this sweet reunion.
Only to be met ever so quickly with our own demise.
Once again we meet a corpse that is still no more beautiful, effervescent, or transmuted in any desirable way from how it was last left.
Oh, how decay does no favors.
The past rarely ages as do fine wines.
We know this, yet we expect otherwise.
Why do we do not trust ourselves, and what we have chosen to leave behind?
To bury underneath the ground, even?
Let remains remain.
