Dust

I tell myself I want to move on.

But what does moving on mean when every memory has already made a home inside of me?

The same chapters return in the library of my mind. My grief, my shame, and the secrets I once buried away from the light, 

Dust is what remains after everything has ended.

And perhaps the cruelest truth is this: I am not merely carrying the dust of my past. I am partly made from it.