I like memories-the happy, shiny kind. If I could take all those memories, and put them in a box that I could open whenever I felt like it, I would be as happy as a pig in muck.
I can't do that though.
My memories, good and bad, just tend to hit me at odd moments. Like I smell something, and BAM, memory. I see something, BAM, memory. It goes on and on.
Sometimes, I'm ready for them. I can defend myself from them. They won't hurt me.
Sometimes, I can't. Sometimes, they take the wind out of me, and I deflate. I can be anywhere, anytime, and it will happen.
It's shit. It's a shit feeling.
But I deal.
Because I'm human.
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