As more and more time passes after an event or feeling has occurred, the gravity of it having happened often dissipates, or at the least, blurs. I feel this is mandatory in order for many people’s sanity to stay intact.
I often recall feelings from many years back in my life as if they were born today, and while I am glad to have had experiences worthy of strong feeling, if their potency were to diminish a bit, it would make my emotional situation a little more manageable.
Maybe they are yet unreconciled within me; maybe I am just a big fuckin’ baby. Either way, every morning when I wake up and look around my house at some of the things that live there, my eyes well up and my heart drops. Dozens of other innocuous incidents elicit a similar result.
I am quite sad, quite often. I’m not an overtly morose sort, and certainly not one that needs or solicits sympathy for troubles I have undoubtedly brought on myself. I am also not one that thinks being sensitive makes me weak. Quite the opposite. The sadness and ill-ease that keep me warm at night also drive me; sometimes mad, but often times to, through, and past any goals I set or roadblocks that may come upon me.
And maybe if as I wished things softened over time it would be a disservice to the memory. Maybe the honor of enduring the experience is served best by its memory staying sharp and mean, and proving useful in guiding my path for the future.