It's amazing how much a meetup can make a person realise a lot of things.

She didn't change; I did. My old self would have not recgonised the new KJ.

Would my old self despise the new KJ? Definitely. Will the new KJ think that the old him is an idealist, and a fool at that? Of course. But he will forever look back at the old him wistfully, wishing that time and the process of growing up did not chip away his innocence, poking holes through it's chinks, until a husk is finally left.

The memories are a prison a prisoner himself made, with bricks of emotions and the mortars of tears. He builds a cocoon of torment. The sad irony is that the prisoner holds the key to the cell door, but does not lust for the freedom, only wanting it's monotony. He prefers the daily torture, for fear of what lies in stall for him outside.

I had finally opened the door.