On Happy Memories That Mimic Pain

I found my old iPhone today. I plugged it in, excited to see things I’d forgotten. Things that didn’t make the transition into my current phone, my now, once again old iPhone. I stumbled across text messages between me and an old friend whose significance I never understood in my life. A friend whose appearance was just as abrupt and confusing as his disappearance. He’d faded into a past that only I knew the truth about. A past I’d convinced myself was unimportant. A past that could no longer creep back in and remind me of a time that all I had hoped for was never going to happen. And what makes it so interesting is that I seemed so very happy. So very authentic. So very possible. Realizing that my phone I currently use is now old, I began to think about how life works. It’s cyclical. Sometimes recycled memories can turn into familiar pain. And sometimes it reappears and it doesn’t affect you at all. It’s just a moment in earth’s history. Other memories can appear happy on the surface, but when you dig deeper trying to recapture what made you so happy, you discover that it wasn’t happiness at all. It was something else, something more sinister hiding just beyond the veil of a misunderstood and clumsy romance. 


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