I am writing today to capture fleeting thoughts for the purpose of their permanence. For, I seem to frequently forget, at the cost of my sanity and general justice, that which was simply bad in my life. The emotions, thoughts, and desires I knew to be evidentially true at one moment flee from my mind without notice, despite their initial harsh intensity. I wish for my conscience to take back control of my memory and thus my life.

By lapse of this memory, I have tricked myself into regretting my latest decisions. I have forgotten what I walked away from. I have convinced myself that I cannot be trusted. My conscience that is supposed to override emotional impulse cannot be trusted.

No.

This is not true.

I was wronged. Whether I had an indirect influence in the decision to execute this wrongdoing is irrelevant. How it was executed, when, and how my life was affected are very much relevant points that I must remember. It hurts deeply to recollect these pained emotions, more so as they root from joy, but I must indulge in the pain, accept it, and use it to see. For, lately I have been tempted to return to the moments before the wrongdoing, when comfort, satisfaction, and love tucked me in tightly each night. But, the wrongdoing has occurred. And to go back would be to disrespect my dignity, self-worth, self-belief, and future.

Only once I’ve considered the means by which came the end of my idyll can I continue on with peace and self-trust. My peace is stripped from me when I long for the taste of rapture and ecstasy once more. But their meaning diminishes when their painful and agonizing downfall is remembered.

To remember is to feel is to persevere.

My actions are not to be regretted; I tightened my screws and held my conscience every step of the way. Still, fate could not be avoided. It can only reoccur when given the same circumstances to flourish once more. And this is the product of forgetting.

Fortunately and unfortunately, my memory lasts. Though my insatiable indulgence for lost warmth remains, the subsequent cold and painful memory conquers those desires.

I remember the laughs as I remember the tears; I remember the exhilaration as I remember the heartache; the yearning as the shame; the assurance as the embarrassment; the anticipation as the regret; and, the time-defying daze of desire, closeness, and comfort as the agonizing blindness of perceived loneliness, insecurity, and imprisonment.

I cannot return to a home that set itself aflame while I was inside.

But I can remember that it did so.