The past surrounds us in a subtle clue, unfolding our true selves. Origami sculptures without the mystery. A "now" that becomes a "once was." A part of us that is left to be forgotten in each manipulated fold we possess that will affect who we will ever become, knowing that with one absent crease, we are permenantly afflicted, unless a true artist can come along and shape us into happiness.

The past may drain you of human perception, and crust your heart with jagged edges, dry your oozing love, dim your bright hopes, and sound your heart's loud beat, all for the pure satisfaction of manifesting you. Spear after spear, it victimizes your soul until you are left hollow.

The past reminds us that there was a point in time that were content, that being alone seemed so short compared to the joy of sharing and communicating. We are smitten by our emotional ties to the past.