To go back,
to look back,
to hurt again.
The never-ending pain of remembering.
My reckless brain awakes me
and jumps back to my past,
to the phase I want to bury.
«Past will hunt your future,» my mind says.
«It will all come back,» she continues.
I urge my imagination to drag me back
to the fictitious memory of the life I’ve never had.
I beg my imagination to rescue me.
Benjamín Cedeño 