Premature wrinkles over furrowed brows are a testament of my old regrets, and even older grievances. They’re the echoes of a time when the world was flipped on its side and all the roads stretched out before me led only to awful choices. Some of the turns I made were light and swift, done without much thought, while the rest brought rivers of tears down my cheeks, salty stings that are only good for softening the harshness of the rest of the world.
Regardless, each decision still lingers like unshakable sand in the back of my head, making time pass strangely when I’m alone and caught in the shadow of my own darkness.
“Where Did It All Go Wrong?”
by: Noel Gallagher