The Little Things

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   It was only then that I realized that forgetting meant setting myself free. I was not being impractical. I was not forgetting our love. No, what I needed to do so desperately was to forget the little things. The little things that made letting go so unbearable. The look on his face when he would tell me he loved me, a certain smile, a specific touch. I could not keep the memory of these things alive or it would consume and destroy the very being of me. Constant reminders of the loss of these things people often so took for granted would surely drive me to slowly lose my mind. It was not love that I was trying to forget, it was his presence. His face that I saw everywhere. The warmth of his body that I wanted so badly to find its way into my bed and hold me at night. The continuous flooding of memories that filled every crevice of my mind. I could not function with the vividness of it all, sprawled like bright paint across the dark canvas of my memories. The fleeting moments I had spent with him contrasted so distinctly against my life making it seemingly impossible to pack these memories away. However, I knew it had to be done. It was only when they would begin to fade that I could feel normal again, whatever normal for myself was - and so I packed the little things into boxes. I am aware they are still there waiting to be opened if fate ever allows it, but I could no longer live in the past; I had to do this. I had to be okay… or at least pretend to be after realizing I was half to a whole, lost once again on the vastness of this earth.

Created: Feb 23, 2012


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