There comes a time in every life when the past starts pressing down like a storm cloud too heavy to hold its rain. It sits there, bloated with all that was, all that should have been, all that we wish we could rewrite. And if you listen closely, in the silence of a sleepless night, you can hear it whisper--reminding you of the words you shouldnt have said, the ones you didnt say enough, the mistakes you made, the people you hurt, the hands you should have held instead of letting go.