In the vaults of time, we gather pieces of our past,
Bits of joy and sorrow, shadows that we cast.
These echoes that we carry, like a weight upon our minds,
Leave us feeling empty, always hard to find.
We stack the bricks of moments, each one a faded dream,
Building towers of yesterday, where nothing’s as it seems.
In our search for meaning, we cling to what has been,
But the more we hold on tight, the less we feel within.
The past is just a collection, a storehouse of old pain,
An endless reel of stories, a cycle we sustain.
As we sift through old regrets and moments lost to cheer,
We find a growing emptiness where the present should appear.
Yet the truth is in the now, where echoes fade away,
In the simple, open moment, where we can see our way.
For when we let go of the weight that memories bestow,
We embrace wholeness in the present’s gentle flow.
Bits of joy and sorrow, shadows that we cast.
These echoes that we carry, like a weight upon our minds,
Leave us feeling empty, always hard to find.
We stack the bricks of moments, each one a faded dream,
Building towers of yesterday, where nothing’s as it seems.
In our search for meaning, we cling to what has been,
But the more we hold on tight, the less we feel within.
The past is just a collection, a storehouse of old pain,
An endless reel of stories, a cycle we sustain.
As we sift through old regrets and moments lost to cheer,
We find a growing emptiness where the present should appear.
Yet the truth is in the now, where echoes fade away,
In the simple, open moment, where we can see our way.
For when we let go of the weight that memories bestow,
We embrace wholeness in the present’s gentle flow.
