There is a weird and wicked circularity in people going back again and again to things, places, people, and memories. It’s like longing for something they lost in the past while reaching for newness only to find out nothing changed. And it can’t possibly change. It feels almost pathetic and weak, this longing for fulfillment and affirmation. More pathetic for the fact that you start looking at the never ending dark bottom of the past knowing damn well things don’t ever come back. Or if they do, they come in the same shape but different names: time, love, sadness, success, Kyle, Matilda, Monica, your favorite ice cream place, the beach, summer, and rewind. And sometimes it works, just by grasping the crippled piece of your past self and putting the broken glass together to just close some doors behind you once and forever. Maybe just then you ll touch a new perspective on kindness for the self, understanding the fine arrangement of the tunes of your heart. These tunes, however, should not be the echo of a damaged piece. Find a way to reborn, to relive, relove, reload the motions of your senses. There is a deep voice that echoes from the bottom of yourself that will always guide you to light by wisdom that the intellect will never be able to reveal. Listen carefully, by kindness, through faith. Try again. And again. Again. And again. Until the notes of the past align to the tunes of the present, shaping the revived music of the future. The art of letting go.