idden truths I try to bury it deep within the library of memories I keep filed away, in an effort to shield myself from the pain which gnaws at me time and time again, but I hopelessly fail. The need to look over my shoulder is crucial. One lost look and it will eat into the deep embers of my soul. When I am reminded an incomplete smile forms around the corners of my mouth before my face contorts and small drops of tears begin to fall down my downtrodden facade. I say downtrodden because the memories are as sweet as honey and yet bitter as a glass of lemonade on a hot summers day. Night Over head the rain drops form their own rhythm on the tin roof while outside in the courtyard the squishing of mud by the feet of rushed servants begins another. This song was the perfect lullaby, but my eyes would not give into temptation. The guests were outside scrambling for whatever shelter they could find from the splash of monsoon rains. I sat as upright as I possibly could but it was get...