It’s easy to forget. Waves of memory creep up, drowning the champagne effervescence that tickles my blood when I forget.
I wish I could forget. Let the champagne pop and wash the slate clean. Start over. Forgive.
But how many times have I tried that now? It defies my strategic mind to let go of the things that hurt me. It defies the animal instinct that twines like wire through my spine, keeping me tense and alert.
I play through scenarios, brilliant Disney fantasies where I release the past and embrace the glorious bright future and bluebirds come sing on my shoulder and my hair never gets split ends and smells like cupcakes. There are things I would need from you to forget, and I will never get those things.
I hinted. I asked. I begged. I yelled. I left. I came back. I left. I came back, hopeful. Stupid.
You will not give me those things. At some point I have to close my eyes and go inside and acknowledge that is because you do not want to.
It would be so easy, I say to myself. I want to make it easy for you. I want to lay it before you and show you the way. If is not clear I will show you another way, and you will try this other path, not discouraged, eager, and you will pick up my pieces and hold them gently, and I will see that, and your mistakes will not hurt me, they will make me laugh and smile.
Your effort will keep the bubbles alive because I am happier sitting in silence and introspection with you than anyone, and when you speak, when the walls drop and we both forget to be harsh and suspicious, the simplest things glow in my head like candle warmth.
Your knuckles, your bare feet.
The words you say when you forget make my brain light up and spin, recognizing kin.
I forget too, for a brief sweet moment. Wildflowers and honey, before the scythe drops.
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