Pain comes and goes. It comes more often than it goes, however, just like everything you actually want goes more often than it comes.
I want to cry all the time but I don’t want to cry at all anymore. Nothing good comes from crying. Crying makes you wish you hadn’t started crying in the first place. Just like forgetting makes you wish you had remembered. Just like remembering makes you wish you had forgotten.
I don’t wish to forget. Not anymore. Memories are torturous, but it is a good form of torture, perhaps. I won’t forget those lonely nights—those nights where I walked until my feet hurt, thought until my brain hurt, remembered until my heart hurt, those nights where I watched the train come closer and wondered if I would feel it knock me into the tracks and lacked the courage to take a few more steps forward. Maybe it wasn’t courage that I had lacked. Maybe it was courage that I had gained.
And I won’t forget the people who have fucked me up. You never want to forget the people who have fucked you up, for those are the people who make you stronger. I won’t ever forget names, faces, dates, times, places. I will remember it all, for it is everything I remember that makes me who I am. I won’t ever forget those nights where I felt like it was me against the world—those nights where I watched my gas tank emptying by the minute, where I watched nearly everything crumble to pieces in my hands, where I felt like I had run out of time to escape the tide. It is always you against the world, and that is something you can never forget. The wine in your glass—if you ever get that glass filled—always does taste sweeter after an unbelievable drought.