My memory is something that has always failed me, falling short at times when I needed it the most. In fact, it sometimes seems that when I least need it, it has no problems grasping every single detail of the moment. I guess you could compare it to that of a defective sponge, only ever soaking up the dirty water you don’t want. It manages to incase my mind in its filth, clouding out every other fragment of positivity still held within it from an easier time when innocence was still with me. I know it isn’t anymore. I remember in crisp detail the dreadful day when it parted from me. The tears I let fall from bloodshot eyes, the unexplainable emptiness felt for a time afterwards.But as usual my mind has been polluted by the toxicity of it, leaving me with no recollection of the true beauty of a mind guided by innocence… Someone once told me that it is in our nature to be good, and therefore our mind tends to forget the good we’ve done just as it forgets we are always breathing, yet remembers all the bad we’ve done. It sounded far beyond ridiculous at the time to me. Yet now as I sit here, mind stained in its own grime, I don’t think anything has made as much sense.
