Sacred Amnesia
Forget you. Forget you not.
Yunior Rivas
They say to remember is to honor, to keep alive.
No one prepares you for how heavy it can become. How it claws at your skin, drags its nails down your spine, and screams endless refrains into the quietest spaces of your mind.
That moment, that face, that feeling. The way it clings to you, insistent and unrelenting. It follows you through the day, shadowing your every step.
The weight of it feels like penance, like something you’re supposed to bear. Because to forget would mean what exactly? That it didn’t matter? That it never happened?
Forgetting feels like betrayal. A kind of violence against the past.
That’s the twisted paradox of it all, it can be cruel, and it can be mercy. And look, there’s you, caught between it all, unable to tell where one ends and the other begins.
You wonder if forgetting will make you heartless, and if remembering will make you hopeless.
Whatever it does, one day, it will just happen. You won’t even realize it, until you do. One morning, you’ll reach for the memory and find it’s no longer pressing its full weight into your chest. It will feel strange. Empty, even.
But remember, not every moment deserves your eternal devotion, not every moment demands your endless grief.
It might be cruel. It might be selfish. It be ungrateful. It might be necessary. It might even be holy.