Sometimes you can almost forget about a person. Then you get a reminder — a song or a name or a vague resemblance — and the good memories fill you up with light for a few sweet seconds before all the hurt comes rushing back, all the achy empty loss, and it takes every scrap of willpower you have not to go beg them to let you back in.
Beg for a second chance, beg for them to love you again, beg for everything to be back the way it was.
Sometimes you just have to wipe away your tears and resolve to bury everything deeper this time.
I’m so terrified for the death of eras, things, people. We can’t ever wish to be reborn while we’re already here; we’re here to be worn, to wear all of these stratified experiences, to remember, to forget, and to try to forget what we remember. I feel so scared, and alone, and wondering how I’ll ever be able to deal with all of this loss through time. There’s no foresight, no preparation. I guess my courage lies in positivity, in love.
The future has an ancient heart. Everything to come, composed of everything before. Our own timelines could stretch back past memory.
Maybe our hearts are bigger than we can ever know.
Maybe it’s one of their many designs: to be able to fly over hollows of emptyness, to cast the pain into them, and to ignite new life on the other side..