To fix a broken heart you’d have to replace times long gone. To comfort something lost and comfort broken thoughts. You can’t rewrite the pages of books already printed. Comfort of memories sometimes only comes in dreams. And my crutch is a memory that I can’t so easily return to. Buried six feet down in a chest with a missing key. My thoughts fill my heart with complete discomfort. It’s so hard to escape (when your) memories (are) tied by string. I’ve sent more messages in bottles than time has for reading and each one returned to sender, and wished on more stars than the dark let leak to and all attempts almost all lost. Sometimes I feel the past gets too much in the way of what you would want to do with your life, and all attempts almost all lost. Comforts all gone when the last leaf falls. Abuse at a young age helps foster feelings of loneliness and discomfort that seems to never be able to be erased and as much as you try to escape, your memories stick like scars, and comfort can wait.