I admit that some movies, some scenes, some songs, some moments, still rub me the wrong way. In general this is a good thing: the harder it is to let go of something, the better the experience it was. I’m also given hope in understanding that these things will pass, as all things pass, and everything will be put in its right place. Fortunately, this is easy to accept because of the fact that I’ve already gone through a full cycle with others. Perhaps I’ve also become accustomed to some residual emotions, kept alive by the memories of the origins of lessons learned.
But all of this still doesn’t detract from the fact that some things still rub me the wrong way, as if my skin was peeled and every conjured sensation was a salt water burn. I can feel that sound in my ears, feel the prismatic dancing of light in my eyes, feel her say, “prismatic”, explaining the colour of her hair.
It’s not even the person with which I share these experiences that makes it important, it’s the experiences themselves, because they mean something. A change in my life. A change that may have not have happened otherwise.
And I realize that it’s not that I can’t let these memories go, it’s that I choose not to.