"I haven’t opened my suitcase in two weeks now.
And I’m not sure if it’s because I am too tired to unpack all of my clothes…
Or all of the memories.
I’m not sure if I was putting off the drudgery of putting each article of clothing,
each trinket back in its rightful place…
Or if I was putting off the emotional task of having to remove
every item that resembles this love and attachment,
And put it in a place where it will take on the meaning
of simply an essential gadget of the everyday and the mundane.
On the vanity. Stuffed away in a drawer. To be forgotten.
Waiting to be used to make new memories.

And I’m frantically grasping at the memories
as if they were the last bit of string entangled about my wrist,
attached to a balloon that thought the sky was its home.
And I’ve come up with these little cures, to help myself forget.
To trick my mind into a state of blissful peace.
But we surround ourselves with these memories.
They make us feel secure, safe.
They are ours.

They tell of the skin reddening moments of anger.
They tell of the cheeks-raw-eyes-swollen nights of sorrow.
They tell of the bursting happiness exuding from our faces.
They tell of the hardly containable grief of goodbyes.
They tell of love lost and love gained.
They tell of our attachment to the places we’ve been…and never been.

But people grab and prod at the memories.
They try to get inside. They try to understand why,
or rather how, one could be so attached to any one person or place.
But they don’t understand. It isn’t their fault.
You cannot wrap your mind around something that you’ve never experienced.
And people wonder why we don’t share our feelings.
They say things like, ‘Kid, life isn’t fair.’
But you have never known unfair
until you are ripped into pieces by your own misgiving.
Until something, or someone you love is viciously torn out of your reach.

Memories make up the marrow in our bones.
The tendons and ligaments of our lives.
They hold us together when we go through hell,
reminding us why we continue pressing onward day after day.
But they will tear us apart as well.
They hold us back, like bony fingers grasping at the last bit of life within us.
Leaving only bitterness in place of the joy that once resided there.
Memories can be the salve that mends a broken soul,
or the grievous reminder of loss and discord."

(H.R.)

This was a poem I began to write when I returned home from a missions trip to Corozal, Belize. I have slowly added to it over the years, just recently finishing it. There are so many deep emotions that accompany a trip to a foreign country, especially when it involves interaction and relationship with the people of that country. A piece of my heart is still in Belize and the memories will forever be a reminder to keep pressing on for the glory of God.