Someone once called me an elephant. Apparently, he wasn’t calling me it in reference to my size or weight (although me and those damn body issues), apparently it was to do with my memory. Apparently he had a point.
Those damn memories.
I’m not talking about the good ones – you know; the i do’s or Foo fighters concerts. I’m talking about those other ones. The ones that manifest as flashes. The haunting ones.
The grand entrance you make at some boy you fancy’s res at 2am after lots of tequila, the dance off at your year end party, the inappropriate text message or phone call that you can’t take back, the time you drove drunk through a road block, the moment you hear your baby may not be healthy. The spine tingle, the overwhelming nausea that those memories, those haunting memories deliver in an instant. The ones you cant seem to rid yourself of – even after it’s been years. All it takes is one song, one picture, one drive by, and you’re right there in the memory that haunts you.
One year has passed now, I still get that small chill when I think of how different things may have been, and I thank God for how are they are.
But those memories… never seem to leave the backs of my eyelids.