The Past

Life was never simple. Our memories of the past are deadened by its present strife. Alarming colors become drab with time, graying as they detach from the main vein. The love of bygone days is a mental shelter we hide under when chance uses us poorly. It is a false yet bolstering illusion. But such illusions help keep humanity relatively sane. If we believe in better times non-existence recedes and depression weakens, leaving room for some variation of happiness.