Dear Sir or Madam:

You can’t make me let go.

You can’t make me.

They say you heal all wounds, but what if I don’t want them to heal?

I just keep picking the scabs. I can’t believe they have even scabbed. The freshest ones are already looking a light pink and not an angry red. I liked the wounds when they were angry. I wanted to remember everything. Every look, every touch, every thought, every dance, every song. I don’t like to heal because it means that I had the pain for nothing. No pay out. Lessons learned but not rewarded.

I demand to feel these things always.

I know some feel it is easier to get over painful experiences. But why do I have the urge to grasp onto the pain, white-knuckled and anxiety-ridden, trying to remember every single moment that I will never get back? Moments that consume and destroy everything that comes after them.

It isn’t pessimism. It isn’t depression. I am making a conscious decision to not forget any of it.

Don’t fret. I am happy with my life. My child, my job, and my friends are all a great source of happiness as well as the joy in how far I have come to be the person that I am. This is trivial compared to anything that could truly bring me down.

But such is the nature of the beast, you will rip these memories from me and I will move on. In this very moment, I don’t want to. Because before the pain came, it felt really good.

A laugh, a glance, a dance, a word, a moment that I can always try to feel again like a phantom limb after it has been hacked off at the joint.

I don’t want to let go but I know you will make me. One morning I will wake up and I won’t remember that place or that sentence or that touch or that feeling. I won’t even be able to mourn.

I know you will take it all away. And I will have no choice but to let you. But the memories won’t fade without a fight. So brace yourself.



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