The only power to stress me out they have is the power I give them.

Ain't this a treat. Only took me half a lifetime to understand this. Now putting it into practice though...

With time, wounds heal. Not completely, no.
All wounds scars. Visible, invisible.
Most are just lying under the surface.
Waiting for just another round to fester.

Stop thinking.

How long has it been since we last meet? Years?
How long has it been since we last talked? Even longer?
Yet I still know everything that is going on in your life.
How awkward every conversation I have with your mum is one-sided but she doesn't seem bothered when I never asked about you.
How can something so near be so far? Unattainable. That describes our relationship.

Stop reminiscing.

The one picture I still keep.
A chain, a ring, a card. Our last presents.
I put them away, yet out of sight, doesn't mean out of mind.
Memories are fickle. They appear when you least expected them.

It takes two hands to clap.

Transitions ain't easy. New environment. New people. New relations.
A bond, when stretched becomes thin. It's inevitable.
Their deaths broke whatever link we had. That's what I like to think. Because the alternative is worse.

I am back again. Somehow every year around this period I will clear up the cobwebs and start writing again. Damn melancholy.

Everyone says time, heals all wounds. No one ever tells you that time simply passes, it doesn't erase the memories and a healed memory ain't a deleted memory.