As I take a walk through the same worn path
I have walked so many times before.
I am aware of the smell of pine and the sound of birds
But they seem in another world.
My mind is on the past as I walk mechanically alone and hurting,
stepping over roots and holes that litter the path.
I know they say that the past is the past,
but my past was supposed to be my future.
The pain is refreshed and gets stronger with each passing day,
time has not cured the ache of separation from love.
I continue to walk and clear my head,
the past will haunt me until the day I am dead.