Letting go (a page from my journal)

August 30th, 3.00 am


You cannot reach for the things you have let go of. Remember that heart shaped helium balloon you kept tied around your fingers because a split second of distraction could mean it escaping to the clouds far far away. That is how I always imagined letting him go. There he was up on the red balloon floating away from my reach.

The thing with Helium balloons are that once it is gone it is gone, perhaps human memory is not quite the helium balloon. A better metaphor of letting go could be digging up a grave for the unwanted memories and shoving them all in the deep dark hole. You only have to dig them so far again to find the mangled pieces of once precious memories.

There is a reason why you don’t dig up a grave.

No matter how much you loved that person, you cannot help the dead from disintegrating.

Dig and you only find the grotesque remains of what once was.

I buried you and burnt the bridge for a reason or a thousand

But how can the remains of what once was be more beautiful than anything ever could be?

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