It's quite mindblowing to consider how much one can haunt oneself. Poor choices can give birth to those skeletons we leave hanging next to our oldest jacket. Spirits that demand permanance, they unrelentingly forge their existence in our thoughts. Is there a solution to avoiding this planting of poisounous seeds in the garden of our minds? No. Some lessons never needed learning, yet we sat in the first row and never missed a lecture. Regret can be an everlasting red light on the road to our futures, an old elevator in a one story building. No matter how many times the clock draws that invisible circle, the ghost of yourself whispers in your head what could have been. It's not always a bad thing, sometimes that immortal cadaver taps you on the shoulder to show you how far your blistered feet have taken you. No amount of wealth or prosperity exempts us from this. Embrace your ghost, like someone from your hometown you never liked but have so much history with. An adult's imaginary friend, there is no need to fear being haunted. Open the door of your thoughts to this ghost and invite them in for tea, they're not going anywhere either way.

Time passes and growth is inevitable. Whether that growth is inspirational or destructive is not a concern of time. We create numbers to track seasons but time has no time for such worldly concoctions. Time is so simply divine that it is impossible to truly wrap one's head around it. "I need more time." "Why can't tomorrow come sooner?" We all wish to hinder or accelerate time at some point, but what's the point? Our lifetime is but a mere moment in the eyes of eternity; dust in the wind as some may say. Time is a worthy adversary and challenging the calendar is futile. But collaborating with time while you still have it can shower you with satisfaction. Time is all we have; the only resource that has yet to be proven mortal. The clock ticks beyond our last breath and all we are is what we can leave behind; will we ever be satisfied with what we leave behind?

Have you ever been walking up a set of stairs surrounded by such darkness that it was unclear whether your eyes were even open? Your muscle memory takes you on that short trek without much difficulty but there is a moment when you wonder which step will be the last. The uncertainty of that last step is overwhelmingly beautiful. Momentary joy or terror can arise from such a moment; the way it is perceived is purely up to the climber.