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A Painful Lack of Memory That I Attempt to Mend With My Pen

When missing time with your family turns to years, it starts to become painful. How will we heal?

Sometimes the quiet feels too loud.

It is then that I feel alone and realize that I haven’t been home in quite a while. I haven’t been able to see my elder sister’s baby grow up into a young lady or see my younger sister grow too old to have a babysitter. I haven’t seen my nephew become a little mister.

Sometimes these days seem so sinister. And I have to craft these words in attempts to heal my diminishing soul. I hope that my words will help me keep my hope during my most trying times and protect me as I grow old. I worry that I will forget the ones who are the most important to me. But how does one forget whom she does not know?

It’s time — 

The time when my thoughts go too deep for me to speak, for me to acknowledge, to come to grips with, to keep.

Sometimes I need a break from the thoughts that spiral around, flashing troubles in my mind. I’ve got to go and try to resolve the discrepancies between the bind that intertwines my inner world, who I present myself to be, and who I am truly inside. I’ve got to figure out what it means to myself, to be alive, in spite of a painful lack of memories.

I will find a way relax into the pain and come out of it whole.
It will ebb.
And it will flow.
Mending myself slowly, with my pen, I will learn to grow.
And I will write little love letters to the ones who I wish to be around, but now cannot embrace nor hold.
In honesty and solidarity, may our stories of pain and healing be told.


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the mindful comedown.

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