Lokey

Some songs hit different when life throws you into chaos. Green Day’s “21 Guns” is one of those. Lately, one part of the lyrics has been stuck in my head:

Did you try to live on your own?
When you burned down the house and home?
Did you stand too close to the fire
Like a liar looking for forgiveness from a stone?

It’s brutal self-reflection wrapped in melody.

At some point, we all think we’re ready to walk away from the past—to cut the strings, leave behind whatever used to define us, and start fresh. We convince ourselves that moving on is just a decision, a single step forward.

Except it’s not.

Something keeps pulling you back. A memory, a feeling, a lingering question of “What if?” Maybe it’s the comfort of familiarity, maybe it’s unfinished business. Or maybe you were never as ready to move on as you thought.

“Did you try to live on your own?”

Yeah, I did. And yet, here I am, looking back, questioning everything.

Leaving something behind doesn’t always feel like a clean break. Sometimes it feels like setting fire to everything you built, watching it burn, and wondering if you made a mistake.

The problem is standing too close to the fire. You get burned.

Ever felt caught between rebuilding and walking away? Like no matter how much you try to move forward, something keeps dragging you back? It’s exhausting. It’s confusing. And yet, so easy to fall into.

When it’s time to live and let die
And you can’t get another try
Something inside this heart has died
You’re in ruins.

That’s the thing about holding onto something that’s already fallen apart. It drains you. It leaves you questioning whether you’re the one keeping the fire alive or just standing in its embers, refusing to accept the cold.

“Did you stand too close to the fire, like a liar looking for forgiveness from a stone?”

That part always gets me.

I’ve tried to seek closure from things that refuse to give it. Tried to make sense of someone’s actions when they don’t even make sense to themselves. Tried to fix something while being the only one holding the glue.

It’s like calling out to something that can’t answer back. And yet, part of you keeps hoping.

Maybe the real answer isn’t about looking back or waiting for forgiveness. Maybe it’s about realizing that some things don’t need to be fixed. Some fires aren’t meant to keep burning.

You can’t walk forward while constantly looking over your shoulder. You’ll just end up stumbling, stuck between two places—never fully moving on, never fully going back.

One, twenty-one guns,
Lay down your arms,
Give up the fight.

Maybe the real battle isn’t about choosing between the past and the future. Maybe it’s about choosing peace. Letting go of what drains you. Finally stepping away from the fire before it consumes you completely.

Throw up your arms into the sky,
You and I.

At some point, you stop fighting the past and start embracing what’s ahead. Not because it’s easy, but because it’s necessary. You lift your arms—not in surrender, but in acceptance.

And maybe that’s how you finally find peace.