The past is a tricky thing; it’s always there like a cold shiver that slides down your back, reminding you what happened is behind you now. Yet at the same time the past is also in front of you, lurking in the darkest shadows that no light can ever illuminate. The past is like a revolver with only one bullet, it’s constantly clicking and turning until the bullet meets the barrow. Then Bang! The door to the past opens and there you see an old friend. Those hard felt emotions you once claimed you would never feel again have suffered to your heart. And here you are, at the peak of your rise.
I never thought we would meet again after everything we been through. But that’s to show that anyone that can clash and burn can be resurrected. So what’s up, how you been? - is usually how it goes. And then you talk and talk and talk some more until you make arrangements to meet. But something isn’t right- I can feel it in your type. Your words are great but they don’t match your brain. You can talk a great game but playing it is a whole another game. When words don’t meet actions you know you’ve been played. Then all of a sudden you realize you been playing Russian-roulette this whole time and I got the bullet.
But the thing about the past is tricky; you think you know the past, yet at the same time you don’t know anything about it. The past comes and goes like a cold shiver down your back, sending pain in cold fragments to your brain. The images become distorted and blurry by the bullet that you thought was going to be the rise of your friendship. But then click! And then bang! A new door is open just like that and here is the rise of friendship you didn’t expect- a friend you thought was dead.