Summer was choir and orchestra too; it was the ballad of the birds and the slow percussion of waves. My dreams of those days are inked with the fragrance of street food and the drumming of local bands. How the sunlight laughed and the dappled shade played. The playgrounds were full and every cafe crowd spilled out in wide chaotic arcs. That was summer; that was then.
The good memories are my salve. They are a comfort in the background, as if they were the elevator music of my soulfire.
You can keep the good memories of someone and still leave. If the bad memories tell a tale of how you became unwell in that relationship, then it is better for you both to part. That's how most stories are, the bitter and the sweet, rarely a tale of two monsters.
If I can throw out a few rotten apples I can throw out a few lousy memories and keep the good ones. Relationships get a mixture of the two, and its a balance. Either the balance is sustainable or not. That's the way it is. We do our best. I've kept the good memories safe and sound.
Good memories keep one warm in the storms of living, they are the moments real flashes of dreams made it into the real world, and so even though we often times need to process or ignore the bad memories that they are intermingled with, they are worth keeping safe in your heart. For these are the moments we humans won some joy, despite the struggle, we smiled and laughed anyway. The happy times happened. They were real. That's good. We pack our mental suitcases with only the best of memories so we can fly anyplace we want.
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