I'm trying to scratch the nostalgia off my heart, but it's not coming off. My nails aren't long enough and the stain's set in and Jesus Christ, now what? I'm too afraid to bleach the memories.
"Afraid" is not the right word. I pick and blot and rub at those stains, but it's all a ruse to show you and them that I'm okay. Getting to be okay, at the very least.
There are lessons to be learned in those memories though, and that's why I tell myself it's fine, it's fine, it's all fine to keep them so close, rising and falling with each breath. There are yes's and no's and maybe's and I like this and I don't like this and all those messy morals of learning what you need and what you want wrapped up in snippets of time. You (or maybe just me) need to review these lessons often. Maybe I'm not such a quick learner.
I often think of Wisconsin, that place I can't believe I spent 18 years in a state of un-me-ness, and their state motto: Forward.
Forward, Megan, forward.
Yeah, yeah, new memories, I know. But I just like the old ones so much.