I was sort­ing through my e‑mail today, try­ing to clean up my inbox, when I stum­bled along a stash that threw me off guard. I did­n’t think that they would affect me in any way, but they did. I did­n’t even read them; the titles just threw me.

Without these titles, these scant few words, I’m fine, and I under­stand the way things are, and the way things have worked out. Everything is log­i­cal to me, and my mind func­tions as nor­mal. But when I see these words, my mind floods with mem­o­ries, thoughts, emo­tions. I get a glimpse of what could have been.

And then I real­ize that it’s just a sliv­er of a cross-sec­tion that takes almost noth­ing of the whole sit­u­a­tion into account. Or do I? Otherwise, I would be able to stop think­ing about it, and I could just let it rest.

And yet I can’t. The good thing is that it’s not an attempt at con­vinc­ing myself of what I would like to believe. I can be pret­ty sure about this, one of the few things in a world where I might be dream­ing.

I wish I was­n’t like this at all. But I am. There has been only one time that I did­n’t feel like I need­ed anoth­er par­ty to know that I was right. And it was because the truth was so obvi­ous­ly on my side, that argu­ing about it would have been triv­ial.

Writing about this has helped. I real­ize that any­thing, pic­tures; text; or just thoughts; can bring up ideas unpro­voked. The ideas may be good or bad, but they are one’s own. The under­stand­ing that they are just super­fi­cial ideas is the most impor­tant part. It’s com­ing to terms with these ideas that sets us free.

I’m pret­ty sure.