All those familiar faces. Those people… I try, but it’s futile. Some things are better left in the past, never to be dug up again. There is a point when blocking everything out stops working, and the pain attacks in swarms. The past becomes nothing more than a unrealistic, distant dream. The world of the past is nothing but a fantasy--completely detached from reality. I tried. I really did. I tried to forget about all the damage I had done. The people I hurt… I tried, but, like a virus, they remain, plaguing my every thought. But there comes a time when the future no longer matters. The present is no longer desirable, and the past, before all the pain, becomes a paradise. A safe haven. And as I place the barrel in my mouth, flashes of those faces come back. The fantasy becomes reality, and I’m coming home.