kmackenzie
half of my life i'm spent worrying about what people thing. half of my life i'm spent sitting learning something in class. half of my life i'm wasting away by getting drunk with friends and barely remembering the night. half of my life
a basement can be an adults own treasure chest. it can be full of many unexpected and forgotten objects. Maybe something one thought they lost, only to discover it was never actually gone, only hidden behind the cobwebs and dusty old books. Like losing a loved one, they're only gone in the physical manor, remaining a memory stored in the back one's mind, maybe hidden behind the memory of some other aspect of their life. These objects, foreseen as memories scattered in one's basement are merely "buried" below the surface one walks on everyday, memories buried by the current moment one's living in..