I wish my memory would fail me. I wish I was forgetful. I wish I had a strain of Alzheimer’s. Never did I feel that forgetfulness could be such a virtue – and that a strong memory could be such a vice. Imagine being tied to a pole at the center of a busy crossroad – with vehicles ramming you from all four sides.
No one to run away from, nowhere to run to, no one to run towards and no place to go. Just you. Just there.
Standing right there, getting rammed. Swap the vehicles with your memories – memories of the past, memories about forgotten faces, forcefully forgotten people, forgiven people, sworn enemies, sweet relationships that turned sour, relations that were nipped in the bud, relations that never happened, relations that were never meant to be, bitter people, sweet people, uneventful events, eventful happenings, dark places, and cheerful faces. Nothing to stop any of these from flowing – just getting rammed.
A sea of thoughts, an ocean of imagination - a deadly combination. I wish I could switch off the mind for a minute second. Stop the thoughts in their tracks. I wish I could close my eyes and all that I would see is darkness. Peace. Solitude. An empty slate. With nothing on it. Nothing to be written. A new story. A new life. I wish I could forget.
