I carry the weight of forgotten years,
Not in bags or boxes, but in quiet tears.
Faded laughter, like a song once sung,
Echoes in spaces where the heart is young.

The faces blur, the voices slip,
Time’s cruel hand a steady grip.
I reach for moments that slip like sand,
Falling through the fingers of an unseen hand.

Some nights, I taste the old regret,
A bitter pill I can’t forget.
The things I should have said or done,
Now lost beneath the setting sun.

Yet in the stillness, they remain,
Tangled in the threads of pain.
Each memory a scar to bear,
A love once lost, a soul laid bare.

What do you do when time steals the past?
When the present is a shadow, and the future—masked?
You carry it all, the weight you know,
The burden of memory, wherever you go.

And though it bends you, you stand tall,
For the past is part of you, after all.
A burden, yes, but also light,
A map of who you were, a guide through the night.