Recurring

Memory is like an overfilled closet-you never know what the first thing to fall on your head will be when you open it.

A few days ago, on my way to work, I listened to the Still EP and the closet opened unleashing a flood of tears. I remembered how it was a couple of years back when one December morning I posted “Leaving hope” on my wall; the decision that I had to make-a decision that was overwhelmingly horrifying to say aloud.  In my desperate denial of the truth I clung to the irrational and futile delusion that wishing for something really badly can make your wish come true, against all odds, even against all logic.

Time heals, people say. It doesn’t happen that way, of course. Pain isn’t an item you can deliberately misplace while moving from one point in your life to the next one-maybe because it wasn’t that you chose to have it in the first place; it was you who drew the short straw to carry it. And it becomes an innate feature-just like DNA, bone structure and eye colour.  Why is it so hard to accept it then?