Old vs. New

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How do you grieve your old selves?

Do you create new ones that replace the old ones..

or do you paint over some scars and memories with fresh paint; hiding all that is underneath like a renewed building that has survived a fire? 

Or do you just toss these memories in a box and keep them in a faraway corner that gets dustier with time until it’s too unhygienic to reach or unravel? 

What happens to memories, pain, laughter, and life incidents? 

And who gets to choose their destiny? 

And why are the memories that scarred your heart easier to reach than any other happy ones in the side-corners of your brain? 

Does pain come in brighter colours than laughter? 

Who answers these questions? 

And who will help you in burning these boxes to ashes to get the courage to paint all over them again?

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