Dear ghost,
The burnt papers are the residue of what was. They are the gradual ashes that fade in the ground. "Had I known better," I would often dream. I would do better only if I had known better. But at those times, life was what i had to suffer. I had wished I had done something else for I did not know that regret can change nothing; it only breeds.
It was I who ruined it. I was the bane of my pride.
I want to tell you that when you are 25, you get to go back in that place and do away with your regrets. Another chance to redeem your soul. But that would be a lie for 25 is still too far.
Yours even as I fear to be.