Remnants of the Storm

I watched the storm. I watched it pass. I didn't even feel it. The streets cleared and it was like it never happened... but then I found the remnants of snow tucked away.

Like the snow, I've been finding traces of my "issues", my trauma, who I was, who I still am, delicately placed all over. My mistakes lay on the sidewalk down the street. I could still see them even under inches of snow. They were right by the buildings with the bright lights that read, "video poker".. right where I left them. I was hoping the rain would melt them away too. It's funny to think that people drive by the little bars all the time and don't even notice the neon signs. I can't help but turn my neck as if to acknowledge and long for a piece of me. If you squint hard enough, you can make out their shapes - my crazy stories, my bad decisions, my fear, my heartbreak - staining the city like hair dye on the carpet. As much as I want to desert them, I always stop to dust them off. I place them in my hands and try to soften their noise.  But they're never quiet. I hear my laughter, amplified after 5-6 drinks as if to prove sincerity. I hear the roaring downpour of chaotic rain.. the rain I stood in, waited in, fought in, ran in. I still feel the hot heat of last Summer's sun and the cheap drinks I inhaled to smother my amphetamine crash. All the seasons come to reunite in my little corners of the city.. where I've made the most storms.

Without my mistakes, I don't know who I am. And when enough time passes and they transform into hazy figures.. 

I make a new one.