Sometimes, I contemplate much about my being; the past, present, future. It’s like my brain is organising the folders of my memories. I entertain a few different moods, and think of many ideas, ideals, regrets, smiles, and whatever else…
Now, I’m one of the people who will be haunted by their past if they make a choice they regret, or endure a moment they thought they could have handled differently. I don’t know why… In fact, the way I work is that depending on what kind of emotion gathers in a place I spend my time, whether it be my home, a town, a village, a house/flat whatever… It lingers in my mind.
It’s like that space between remembering, and forgetting, but the problem is, when I catch those breadcrumbs, those emotions I left behind, or the ones that remain in that place, morphing its emotional connotation, I can’t help but pick up the memory and watch it. Sometimes, when I’m on my own, and I slow down from my day, it becomes my worst enemy, and repeats.
Now, sure, sometimes, I could feel the best feeling in the world– when I’ve had good memories in a place, and other times, it’s like watching myself sulk, or skulk, or deal with problems that I’d rather not have dealt with.
I can close my eyes right now, and see the ghosts of my past around my house. Whether it simply be people I’ve consoled, or people who have consoled me. Whether it be someone telling me that they need me, or someone arguing with me. Thankfully, in this house, I haven’t had many, if anyone to argue with. Aside from one, I think.
More so, I admire the fact that I can call upon these memories at will, but at the same time, when I feel lonely, they trigger by themselves, and it is like listening to a song on repeat. It doesn’t matter how much you love it, you get tired of it after a while. Sometimes, all I want to do is talk to those people, doesn’t matter how far ago things were, or what happened, but sometimes, I just want to reconnect. The actual fact, however, is when you do confront such people, not the ghosts, the real people, and you find that they barely remember such a thing.
I mean, how do you tell someone you love them, but forget? I remember every single time I’ve ever used the damn words. I know, it’s probably a sad thing to say, but at the same time, I don’t mind. I used to hate it, I used to hate myself for it. I have been told by many people to change, to get ‘tougher’, act more callous, and not be so observing… but I’m sorry, it’s just not me, and for the people who have said that, I think it would be better that you turn your backs to me, and say goodbye. For, I don’t think I can ever change a primal instinct of mine.
I will always be the fool that cares too much, but if that’s what the people closest to me will remember, then I’d rather that than the person who walked away from the first dirty look.
Believe in yourself, for when you don’t, I will; we’ve got a long way to go, and this is just one brick in a very long wall.