Remembering is a temperamental thing.
Remembering can bring happiness. It can find its quiet way from the hidden corners of the back of your mind to sunbathe in the warmth of your consciousness and pour itself through the little cracks in your heart and fill it fill it fill it so you don’t feel quite as lonely or afraid or sad and so well
Remembering can feel good.
But… it can also hurt.
At times — only sometimes, but at important times — Remembering can force its dreadful self to the surface of your mind. And every heavy-handed grasp it takes while crawling up through the hollow emptiness of your gut sinks itself into your Memory and so you remember that scratchingscrapingclawing feeling until you die and so
and so you’re afraid of it. And you want to avoid its Bad Side so badly — you want it to leave you alone so badly — that you lock it away tight and swallow the key deep down in the pit of your stomach and pretend you can’t feel it anymore but
but you can. And Remembering is a heavy thing and it weighs on your consciousness and it knocks every so often on the tender-sore part of the inside of your chest to remind you that it’s still there.
And it’s still there.