Remembering

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Why do I remember so much?
Why do you forget?
Yes, I forget some things,
But I seem to remember a lot of stuff that you don’t.
You start talking about something,
And I start fearing that you’ll talk about something that hurts me.
Something that I remember.
Something that I’m ashamed of.
Why do I remember?
Can’t I just forget?
I remember things from long ago.
I remember the boy from fourth grade.
I remember which cheek he kissed,
And how many times he kissed my hand.
I remember the boy from second grade,
The one I had a crush on.
He was funny,
He made me laugh.
I remember one of my best friends in sixth grade,
That, well, now that I look back on it, seemed to possibly judge me towards the end.
I remember my seventh grade English teacher,
And how she never got my name right.
I remember some of the bad things I’ve done.
I want to kill some of these memories,
Just so I don’t hurt so badly.
These memories are the ones killing me.
They press down on me from all sides:
Accusing. Framing. Blaming.
Just go away!
Yelling doesn’t help.
These memories pick me apart,
Until there’s nothing left to hide.
I lock myself up in my room,
The memories guarding me,
Making sure I don’t go anywhere.
They mock me and tease me.
They hate me,
With their whole beings.
They may not be actual people or animals,
But they seem to have souls that see right through me.
Will they go away?
Will I forget them someday?
Please, I pray,
Leave me in peace!
My life is already horrible enough!
And yet they stay.
Going into my sophomore year,
These memories follow me everywhere I go:
To church. To camp. To band. To Maryland. To Louisiana.
Why? I ask. Why?
Looking up at the sky,
Searching for God,
I only see the clouds,
Reflecting my memories back to me.
I look up and see the good memories,
The happy ones.
The ones where I’m not about to cry.
The ones that I want to stay with me forever.
Remembering.
That’s what I’ve been doing my whole life.
I’ve been remembering.
Whether I want to or not.
I remember most things,
I hold onto them.
I hold onto the things that I think are important.
I hold on without realizing it,
And then they come back to haunt me.
Remembering.
This is one of the things I fear.
Remembering.





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