Not there

Reading the past, is just that. It is the past. Words filled with anger and remorse. Sorrow and frustration, for events that didn't transpire as hoped, perhaps even dreamed. I am not who I was just a few months ago. Release of something and someone brings about change, transformation. Don't ya think?

I wince at words I have written. I remember that place, but it is like the rain puddle a few days ago. Dried and a patch of wet on the pavement with debris gathered around.