Celebrate

I know now why my memory haunts me.

It doesn’t do it to betray me.

It doesn’t do it to cause me distress and reliving of hurt.

It is attempting to bring me back further than the hurt.

It is attempting to reunite me with my purity of my childhood.

Before it got complicated and hurtful,

And before I processed it that way.

It attempts to go back before each milestone so that I can touch the part of me that which was pure.

So it stops everywhere along the way.

I tend to re-feel all the hurt and confusion.

I forget all those who tried to love me and those that still do.

I still love all whom I’ve loved. They may too.

I forget

All those who reached out to me and I either found their imperfect selves

Or engaged my own imperfect hurtful self.

But now I am realizing that as I try to meditate myself back to the initial breath,

There are loved ones who saw me there.

Not that I was there, but when they heard me speak,

They heard my hope.

When they heard me laugh,

They heard my joy.

When I hugged them,

They felt my love –

Even when I did not –

Even when I could not.

I was not meant to be hurt.

I was hurt.

I was meant to shine a personal peace that radiated.

I was meant to shine a personal love that burst forth.

Somehow, sometimes I must have done that.

My memories, when taken in the whole –

Are something to celebrate.