To let bygones be bygones
One must kill them, the sac of desires
One must nip them at the bud,
Or dissociate and detangle the knots
If "kill" seems too offensive, too brutal for a word.

Feelings, deja vus are but echoes in the damp air,
Exhaled and used long ago,
Feelings of adrenaline rush,
Happiness, bliss, romantic blush
Pangs of pain, sorrow, eternal melancholy
Insults, flirts, compliments, embarassment,
Half embraced emotions.

I deny their arrival,
They deny my dismay as they come in platoons,
Often places and fragrances of trees and certain mystical flower,
Sometimes tunes and words,...