They tell me not to look back on the past, but how can I abide by that when the past is just another analogue for “storehouse of all my memories”?
Memories. Those immortal things that will never leave you even if your shadow does.
Some people have them in pictures, some in scripts and others like me in the heart and mind.
For me, there are many in my treasure chest that involve the same person being the cause of my happiness and my smile and then (surprisingly) my sadness and my tears.
Memories can be suppressed, never erased. Just because those heartrending moments are over, long gone perchance, doesn’t imply that there aren’t days when it all comes rushing back.
Sometimes I just find myself alone, but in the company of my thoughts that soon lead me down memory lane where I find the eye of my mind making me oblivious to the sights before me in reality.
Some are so bittersweet that they have left an indelible mark on me, promising a smile complemented by tears or maybe just a blank stare and brimming eyes or in extreme cases grinning with apparently no reason.
But if there’s something I’ve learned from memories, it’s this: they aren’t painful reminders, they were priceless lessons.
If something is etched in my memory for a lengthy period of time, it’s either worth remembering, or it’s remembered or resurrected for a reason.