preferred amnesia

I have the uncanny ability of holding onto certain things for far longer than I should. Like the napkin from a bar in which I wrote the note: learn better how to let go.

I still have pictures and clothes and books that I’ve already seen and over-worn and more than three-times-read taking up space in my new life, things that are directly associated with parts of my past that I’m not ready to let go of just yet.

They’re like the stupid souvenirs that the tourists buy, the t-shirts that say NEW YORK on them as though the tourists are going to forget they came here without those letters on their chest there to remind them.

Because you remember NEW YORK like you remember your first love. You remember how it felt, what it meant to you, and how difficult it was to leave it behind. In the city you’ll remember how it felt to be there, to stand among its people, amidst its buildings, in the throes of other peoples lives - and it’s not like you’re going to forget all that when the t-shirt, like love, becomes worn and torn, becomes a rag and eventually has to be thrown away. You’ll still remember even then, with the shirt long gone, how it felt.

NEW YORK and love and the things you can’t leave behind are like the monkey bars. I never liked the monkey bars as a kid - legs swinging, hands holding on trying to propel myself forward just to get to the other end. For wouldn’t it have been easier, faster, less painful just to walk? But we come to know, (and sometimes too late) that anything that’s worth anything never comes easy.

And like the monkey bars - NEW YORK and love and the things you can’t leave behind - the tighter you let yourself grip them, the longer it takes for those red marks, those almost-blisters, to fade away.