I wish for a world where you don’t lose anything. Like in that 2006 film, Wristcutters: A Love Story. There will be a void, a place where lost things go.
The problem with losing things is that you will always remember. What they looked like. How they felt. You remember these things along with the things you’ve done to it, with it. Say, you got your leg amputated. Sometimes you won’t remember it was cut off. Sometimes you find yourself scratching your leg that was once there; you know, before you nommed three boxes of double-glazed donuts in one sitting.
I fucking hate remembering. That moment when you hear a song, you are instantly reminded of a person, a place, a past already buried in the depths of Tartarus. You despise not having enough self control to stop brain activity for a while and jump to when remembrance is over because GOD! FREAKING! DAMN! IT! you recall everything – from the crook of his smile to the way he runs his fingers through his beautifully disheveled hair. You remember the sound of his laugh – equal parts moan and delight. That cute frown he makes when you are talking funny and he doesn’t know if you’re for reals or trolling the shit out of him. The random text messages you get from him when you’re at work. That inexplicable feeling you get when he’s around; like you’re a different person but you’re not, you’re just happy, I guess.
It all comes crashing down on you like a sucker punch in the freaking nuts.
And like getting bit by a snake, you tumble down to square one, searching your iTunes for Bon Iver or Adele or both. Back to when everything was fresh. When your heart was ran over by a ten ton truck over and over and over again. When you lost your objectivity. When it had become a habit to drink vodka at night just to stop yourself from thinking too much.
It wasn’t only the boy, his presence, and the memories but also yourself. Because you remember all those things but not how you used to be before him. You can trace his silhouette perfectly yet you can’t enumerate the things you can do without having to remember him. You lost a whole lot more than what you won this time and it sucks huge globs of hairy balls.
When the remembering was done, the forgetting could begin.