Sometimes I feel like all of my history needs to be erased. It feels too heavy to carry around, even though there is nothing hefty in it. No bags of leaden hate or fury. No suitcases full of regret or sadness. None of that.
And yet it still feels like I carry too much with me, colouring the world with it in a way that makes me feel like I’m trudging through a swamp of treacle. Dragging dead weight behind me for no good reason.
Oddly the weight is often comprised of sweetness and love. Those things that were once so light they floated, full of rich swirling colour and beauty. The remnants still live back there behind me, flitting into my peripheral vision now and then and skipping away. They gain power with time in a lot of ways. Instead of floating away on the wind, they force stakes into the ground, throw a lasso around me, and hold me to them with a strength that belies their soft tenderness.
I would like you to come to me with flashing knives and the will and strength to cut them loose, a presence that makes glancing back at them feel like a waste. I want to be filled with so much of now that the past becomes an irrelevance. Not really to feel like all of the moments before this one were spent waiting for this one, but close, I want it to be so very close to that.
Where are you? Come and find me.