Traces

Traces of the past inside myself.

They are invisible but...

sometimes they appear, become visible, physical

and it hurts.

Leftovers, precious souvenirs.

Sometimes I feel that I carry you inside of me. As if I am carrying your history inside of my body.

Your pain is in my bones and your love is floating in my blood.

What made us to who we are today? How free are we to choose who we will be tomorrow?