Philosophical cow dung on the life of little Ms. Imperfectly Fine.

Monday, January 23, 2006

It always comes back

When my mind is occupied with something important, or I'm doing the things I love, when I'm finishing my work or reading a book, I don't think at all about it. Like I can finally say that I'm cured, I'm no longer on the drug. It is these days, I grew to appreciate. The days when I don't think much about it. As if I had forgotten, like I've moved on. And I've stopped crying.

But, when night time comes, when I'm just about to go to sleep or even when I'm walking by myself, it slowly comes back to me. Just when I thought it was over, my mind recalls what would have been best to forget. And I let it run freely, because I don't want it to stop. I want to remember, I want to visit those memories, I want to live in them. Because I was happy then, I am happy now. Things like that you don't easily forget, you wouldn't want to. Somehow, I realize that it was the best. And as sad as I am, I've stopped crying.

I don't know what I would do, if one day I would wake up to find that it's really gone. That I can't bring it back. I don't feel sad or angry or dissappointed anymore, I don't even feel happy. I no longer feel anything. It's like there's nothing left inside. They took it away and perhaps I had welcomed them somehow. The things I did and did not do led me to give it up. And a new feeling would emerged, a feeling of loss. Because it was such a part of me that when it's gone, I also lost myself. Maybe then the tears would come.