So what do you do when you find that most of your life has been kept in a black box, where your memories are held, and that it is deeply embedded in a far corner of your being?
So what do you do when these memories of long time gone still tugs at your every actions and your thoughts unknowingly to you so that the only way to move on is to face them?
So what do you do when you know that facing them can bring back pain because these memories were stored there in the first place, an escape from “current” pain as a way to move on?
This is what I choose to do, opening them in small doses at a time, taking them apart and to write about them. In writing them, confirm their existence, confront their presence and reduce their impact, like sealing their fate in a contract. Because the written word is sometimes the most power thing we can give ourselves as a promise that life must go on. In spite of.