We could spend an eternity trying to rid ourselves of the things we yearn to forget, and an eternity trying to remember that beautiful thing that you know happened, you know you felt, you know you thought, but you cannot quite hold onto. It is a fleeting essence, on the tip of your consciousness, it is nothing. Because the memory is no longer there, just its shadow, and shadows are always the darkest part of something very real. It gives the shadows roots, and they begin to anchor you to the now, permit you to wilt within the darkness rather than grow out of it.
The things we should hold onto dearly we never do, and that which holds us down, disables us, that which we let win, we remember. It sinks into our skin, we soak it up until it is no longer something that happened, but it is a part of us, something which defines us and roots us to the earth.
How to untangle ourselves from something so integral to who we are. How to wash away that which makes our skins feel like tar, our breaths poison and our touches numb.
As time passes we keep running, never stopping, like a gale we move with abandon and desperation. Running from something we do not even fully understand. But we are not fleeing from the past, we are fleeing from ourselves because they can become synonymous.
It can take a long to realise that we are not running from the past, but from ourselves. We are not running from our pasts, but running toward them. What we can do to ourselves, is worse than anything anyone else could ever inflict upon us, because even though we may not fully know ourselves, we know exactly how to burn.
I have hurt myself, more than anyone else ever could. And this realisation is my most liberating and terrifying realisation to date. Terrifying, because I have spent so long torturing myself over something I have full control over. If we are the ones hurting ourselves, then only we have the power to stop that hurt and forgive ourselves for our own trespasses against us.
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