It could be any one of you, those I have known; some of you parade through my mind with the kind of demanding insistence uncharacteristic of you in real life while others of you visit with alarming irregularity, leaving my grasping and clinging for any morsel of our bond I can recall. I find myself audibly gasping in surprise as some wayward memory bursts into the forefront of my mind, much the way the word one might have been racking ones mind for a few weeks back will present itself too pointlessly and gracelessly late to be of any use, but is so winsome and shiny and appealing that one wants to shout it out from rooftops.
This memory has hijacked my attention, I’m suddenly miles away from whatever was happening at present, leaving the person I’m probably trying to have a conversation with (likely at least partly in another language which is another part of the brain that is constantly muddled entirely) irritated or confused. I look around me for someone to share it with, someone to laugh at the inside joke but there’s no one inside this joke with me, which leaves even me outside in the cold.
The bright shiny memory is followed by a hallow feeling of sadness that pushes the joy of the reminiscence back into the depths from whence it came, leaving me feeling alone and confused and filled with a longing for something unnamable and suddenly vague. It comes and goes so suddenly that I begin to doubt that the memories are even real, maybe it never even happened. Perhaps I never knew you and we never did that and that place doesn’t exist. There’s very little in the differences between this world I now inhabit and the one I thought I knew to effectively confirm or deny. My former life takes on a dream like quality.
The sad memories, of those with whom I’ve lost touch since I’ve been here, or whom I might not see again (for whichever reason) or places which no longer exist hold a particular poignancy. They rub up against the sharp corners of my mind where my will has stepped in to protect me from their innocent poison, for truly indulging them, for reliving them starts off a chain reaction which can only lead to dark places. These bittersweet memories are like soft velvety cushions, and I find myself falling into their soft luxury where the initial promise of comfort fades away and leaves me in pain on a bed of nails.
So I let you go, one by one, after the other, some of you slip away during the night, some of you must be pushed out the door, but I can’t do it any more. I can’t spend my time wondering what it is with you, and for you, I must just settle for the idea that maybe someday we’ll meet again. It’s too difficult to continue on being stretched across these oceans and continents. I must try to be just where I am, and not spend so much time where you are, at least in my head.
But I assure you it pains me physically; I can feel you stripped away as flesh from my bones, each one being torn away categorically and seemingly without reason. My logical mind tells me that you can stay, and rest comfortably in my soul while the irrational, emotional part pushes you out the door. It’s hard to give in this metaphorical grey spot, the place with and without you. There can be no more “I wonder what she’s doing,” or “I wish he could see this”. I have to hold you each in your place in my heart, and hug and kiss the image of you that lives in my soul and put you back on the deep dark shelf in the depths of my mind. And I have to forget about you for now.
I have to let you go.
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