The Severed Reminiscences

It's quite usual for a person to go through situations, things, atmospheres which are undesirable for them. Every time we lie awake, after every hit we take, the people don't come back, nor does the situations. The only thing that comes back is the memories. We desperately try to block them off, but it's inconceivable the way it transits in our mind. As to why we run away from those memories is because what had followed, wasn't a pleasant experience. All those memories with that person, thing or place become traumatic. It's not the memories we avoid in true sense, it is the realization which comes along with tit that those memories will never be reciprocated the way it was, and that things would never be the same. It's bizarre, the pain it causes, and that we tend to keep our mind occupied so that the memories never find a threshold to creep in from. Such memories haunt us in our nightmares; every teardrop tells us the story of our shattered dreams, expectations, heart, and soul. Passion; true passion, is a human’s worst suffering; it leaves us naked – exposed to the desolation, to the pain that the person can cause us. Yet, these feelings are the only thing which makes us who we are as an individual. Time heals all the wounds. It does. The memories become distant, it doesn't hurt anymore. No pain, no sadness, no happiness, no passion, no love – numbness becomes a part of us. It brings back the pleasure, the pleasure of thinking about something without the fear of the memories bringing along with it - the misery. This fear of being confronted with things that belongs to a connection that no longer exists; hidden away in the deepest corners of our mind is not something to be ashamed of. We all have that one memory, that one person, that one place, that one thing which we once loved but now, only reflect hate on. The past isn’t a lie but I won’t go back there because the objects, the feelings, the person that are linked to my memory with the familiar, yet distant life of former times. They instantly lose their value when, severed from them, you see them again in a strange surrounding, in a strange situation, one which I wouldn't have imagined them to be while they were a part of my life. One can resolve to forget all the melancholic memories. Of all the things one can forget, that would be the easiest. Yet, somehow, a part of it remains, buried deep within the core of heart, waiting, to be called with the reminiscences.