For some, past is beautiful. They don’t dramatize nor do they dwell in the lost memories. They find it beautiful just the way it is.
Could be vivid memoir of the first cycle brought to you. Or of the children you grew up playing with. Some places that you’ve been to, of which every nook and corner feels so close to your heart even this day. The ecstasy of past is, it cannot be relived. You see it, you feel it and it ends there. You cannot have it anymore. The trees that stand tall up in the mountains might have it camouflaged in their thick dark green leaves. The occasional wind that comes by through your windows in sunny afternoons knows it well. Deep blue skies early in the morning beautifies itself by the past you’ve left behind. After humans, it goes somewhere we do not know, reconciles in everything that we sense and perceive in our everyday life.