Things are falling apart.

You might think that I am reffering to my life, but I am actually reffering to my closet. I have countless clothes that are worn, torn, ripped, and most of all unraveling. But why is there a part of me that can't let go of these old things? This propably sounds like a Carrie Bradshaw rant, but there is a part of me that wont let go of the ripped up things in my regular life also (uhm, I guess we've come full circle and we are talking about my life again...) I wish I could throw some memories out like I would an old shirt, and be rid of it. It would be happily soaking up in a trash can, while I could move on with my life. Unfortuantly theres nothing but time that can cure unwanted memories. And for that I will worship the person that creates time travel.