Let’s get one thing straight- memory is a cruel mistress. She taunts with her soft movements, dancing around you with a soft voice, inviting, distant, always just out of reach. Always a little too far away. The dreams you could swear were real, vivid and coarse, sitting like sandpaper on your skin. You try not to move beneath it. But the memories they mirror, the moments gone, several kinds of gone, move just enough that you don’t forget. This is the very thing I’ve spent my entire life terrified of. The loss, the absence, not being able to remember, not knowing what I don’t know. I collect tangible and sentimental items as to minimize my risk, but what I’ve learned this year, if anything at all, is how to let go. Why some things shouldn’t be revisited.
The memories triggered by a word, a smell, a taste, or a place are allowed. I let them steal into my mind, take up the space they need to, and leave when they are ready. I have decided these things worth remembering will do all the work for me. Maintaining accuracy is where photos and notes come in handy. But while we all keep these old text messages, photographs, how frequently do we actually go through them? I know I putzed few and far between, and usually couldn’t quite make it to the end. Nostalgia is sweet until it’s violent, and scar tissue isn’t as tough as I wish it was. I hurt myself trying to crawl back into those spaces, trying to hear those voices, memorize every letter, feel it again. I would abandon the old cell phones, laptop documents, journals, and drive out on familiar roads. That pain sat in my chest the whole way, anxious, anticipating, as if a projection of the memory I had would be playing on a loop in the same spot. These photos and messages are pale in comparison to actual recreation- going back to the place of the fog, where the Unforgettable Moment happened, maybe even with the same person, or someone sweeter, to try and bring back the life you had found before.
This isn’t possible. It will never be as beautiful. And if it is, never in the same way. Our personal evolutions stand in the way. This growth, whether it’s in a different direction or parallel with the person you are with, means that you can’t have that same minute again. You can’t go back. It’s over. Be glad.
At first I decided it was worth it, that any chance at having that happiness once more would validate all the struggles I had seen since. But the truth is, that cruel mistress lied. She let me romanticize the past, coiled it around me laced in perfume, promised me things that I wanted, that in some ways, I needed. However, there was no return. There was no love where I had left it. A thousand memories pass through any spot, any person, any minute, and all we can do is appreciate the ones we’ve collected, and allow the new ones to come inside. I realized I spent so much time trying to get back what I had, trying to taste that bliss again, that infinite love, I wasted so much time that new memories could have blossomed.
If I can leave you, reader, with anything, learn to let go. Say “thank you” to this life for giving (and taking) what it has, and step forward. The wallowing, the sulking, it’s all futile. Attempting to move backwards means you only stay in place. Don’t rob yourself. Don't forget if you don't want to. But don’t hurt yourself trying to remember.
