Sometimes, old scars begin to itch again. You feel the urge to confront something you never fully dealt with before, rushing back to face it. It’s a battle with no winners, a war with no participants. The wounds never truly heal; they linger, waiting for any sign of weakness. So you find yourself fighting the same old battle. It seems obvious, doesn’t it? You’ve already survived once. It seems easy, but it’s far from easy. How many ghosts do we carry with us, and how many impressions do we expect for the future along the paths of life? Is it us who never let the past go, or is it the past that never lets us go? I mean, it was us that never let the past go or the past never let us go? Even the existentialists got it wrong badly. We are slaves of time already passed or not happened yet. So complicated? Ask Sisyphus.