forgotten ruins.

I get bored quite easily. When boredom kicks in, the results can be quite tragic. Unfinished projects, once eager and ambitious to create, lay scattered and half buried in ruins beneath the depths of year old reminiscences reside in my room. Hidden and forgotten, these abandoned pieces once a part of me, even if just for a few hours, reveal their priority and sense of meaning. Everything you've create will always have a stance in what you become. It's silly how easily we seem to forget and how naturally we come to ignore but not entirely forgive. Those are the cases that haunt you forever but as they say, "Time heals all wounds." But is such a cliche true?