Cecilia

 It is in our nature to forget. To recover. To move on.

It is for our survival and sanity that our minds do not hold the capacity to truly remember pain once it is gone.  The sensation of it. The sharp slice and sting of it against our skin. Forgetfulness is the warm bath, in which we rest our weary bones and prepare for the next days journey. But… every once in awhile a peculiar thing happens. Nature is denied and our sanity is forfeit.

Every once in awhile a moment of our life will breach the sanctity of our forgetfulness and burn its self into our memory with such ferocity that it will never be forgotten. Its ashes will never be smoothed away.

 Picture these moments as a world map, yellowing an antiquated, laid out upon the kitchen table for you to view in its entirety. Stand above this map and admire it in its detail and complexity. Run your fingertips along its crinkled, time-worn edges and breathe in the soft scent of dust and earth settling along its surface. Look at this map in its immensity. It must be obvious to you that this map, once unfolded, will never quite go back as it was. It will not fold.

It will not give up and be stored to gather webs in the hall closet. It will not become the graveyard to some weary moth, floating to its surface at the end of a short life. It has been unraveled, and no matter how sharp the creases, how dedicated and graceful the hands, this map will not be folded up and put away again. It will not be bent.

 Cecilia.

You were my map, and the ashes of your burning will never settle against the cold earth, but instead will dance within my lungs with every breath I take. I cry, but your ashes will not be washed away, and will instead turn my tears the color of oil, disgracing me with the tracks they leave upon my cheeks.

Cecilia.

You were my moment. My breach of sanity. And the burn of your touch has left scars both exquisite and hideous across my flesh. And when I am brave enough to run my hands along these scars I read from them my memories of you, as though they were Braille.

 Cecilia.

You would not bend. You would not fold.

And your memory will not be put away.

For this I will always love you, but never forgive you.

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1 Comment (+add yours?)

  1. nosleepandcrazy
    Sep 12, 2012 @ 21:28:13

    So sad. I really love this.

    Reply

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