Flood

I once read this book that said when you close a door or chapter in your life, the universe makes room for something else to come in and flood that vacant space. That sentence, I remember, resonated with me then and even now, several months later it reverberates within my soul like the beating of an African drum. Hindsight they say, is always 20/20 and in retrospect I know now what I needed to let go of, what door I needed to close and what memories I needed to clear from the cache.

Several months ago however, I didn't know what door to close and how to differentiate closing it from forgetting it. There is a fine line and sometimes, too often in fact, it's easy to mix up that just because I walked away doesn't mean I forgot and doesn't mean I won't always remember. I have a fear of forgetting. Or maybe it's a fear of remembering. Maybe it's a combination of both, that I can't chose what I remember. The good memories get pushed aside and replaced by newer, better, bigger, faster. Either way I only want to remember the good, to block out the tears and the pain. But sadly, I have to say it is quite the opposite, really. I think of you as a villain, as a disease that plagued my life and blocked my hallway to happiness. But I was young and it was fun and I just couldn't give up on the idea that we could make it work; that we could make us work; that our differences were not to much to overcome; that your anger and your disconnect wouldn't infiltrate and spread from my heart to my soul.

So here I am, after all these years and I realize that I was wrong. For me, there is nothing worse. There are few things harder than failing, than admitting I am wrong, than saying I'm sorry. These are the worst words to mutter, the easiest to forget, the most important to learn. And while I'm not going to apologize now or hold on to the fact that it's many years too late for I'm sorry and I was wrong, I am going to allow the universe to flood me with this one more chance and savor the current as it washes me away.