Perhaps the past is not supposed to be seen as a graveyard, but rather as a set of steps or a seemingly endless road. If ever overcome by nostalgia – good or bad – it’s not the discomfort of stumbling over and through the gravestones littered with misdeeds. Instead, maybe, that moment to recall is one where neither a turn of the neck nor too much thought is needed. What will suffice is a smile that sings to who I am now, and an acceptance of the missteps that are choreographed into a dance I’m still coming to learn.
Now
