She tries to wear her pain on the inside. She always has. It__ the trademark of the oldest sibling, I think.

Big events, small, mundane moments of the day__t doesn__ matter; the past will find a way to squeeze into the present__f you let it.

She always used to say that the past is a relentless parasite in its quest, feeding off of the senses, looking for anything that will trigger a memory__orever there to complicate the present, forever there to remind us that it will always be a piece of us. I never had a clue as to what she meant, until now.

The past is a very determined ghost, haunting every chance it gets.

I set my face toward the sun again, and I think about my old life__he one I feel as though I__e abandoned somehow. It hurts to think of it that way. And even though I know it wasn__ perfect, I look back now, and all I see is perfection. Every soft whisper, every spoken word, every gentle touch__t__ all perfect. Time won__ let me see it otherwise. They__e all just perfect memories__erfect, untouchable moments that came and went so softly that they almost feel as if they were always just a dream.

The past isn__ always as beautiful as we paint it in our minds.