Old wounds

The testament that nothing in the past ever died is when you look back, hold a piece of that past, and weep. Still weep. Or at least, feel what you felt before.

Old wounds. I read the whole thing again and if only some of it were never erased forever, I would have read the original source as well. I read it all again and it made me feel, once more, why I am what I am now.

I think, I inherited that sick Filipino trait. The one that forgets, no matter how painful a wound, as easily as it sets free a sound. Now I remember.