Sometimes I think about the phrase “forgive and forget” and I always laugh to myself because that doesn’t sound like me at all.
The best case scenario would be “forgive, but don’t forget” because forgiving is a choice, but forgetting isn’t. Even if forgetting were a choice, there are some things that shouldn’t be forgotten.
Someone that hurt me–oh, I’ll forgive them, if they’re someone important to me–but how do I know they won’t do it again in the future? How can I protect myself if I forget what you’ve done? Forgiveness doesn’t mean you’ve regained my trust, simply that I still want you in my life.
Then, I suppose, next would be “don’t forgive, don’t forget.” Some things shouldn’t have to be forgiven. Some things are too awful, too cruel, too terrible to forgive.
There’s a point where even your loved ones can let you down, a point when you have to take them out of your lives. And it’s important to remember why.
The worst, though, is what makes me laugh the most, though not in a happy way. Because the thing is, I feel like I’ve done this, I just don’t remember: “don’t forgive, forget.”
Keep my grudge burning in my gut, but don’t keep track of where it came from. Let that righteous anger stew until I have no idea what caused it in the first place.
Forgive and forget, isn’t that funny? Why would I ever do that?
—
It’s hard to tell how awful you’re being in the moment at that moment. Sometimes it takes hours, days, sometimes even years before you can gain enough objectivity to step back and tell yourself the truth.
I was awful. I was cruel. I was terrible.
But once you realize that, it hits you repeatedly. Sneaks up on you long after the matter has passed, long after you can make amends.
I’ve cut people from my life for far less, how could I ever expect better treatment from others. Wouldn’t they be better off without me?
And so I run, I leave. I let radio silence turn into distance turn into a steady goodbye. How long has it been since we spoke? Do we even count as friends anymore?
No, probably not.
But thanks for being my friend, then. Thanks for being with me, then. Thanks for the good memories, even if they’ve been punctuated by bad.
I don’t like saying sorry, because it always sounds like an excuse, but thanks I’ll give gladly even if it means goodbye.
~
A/N: A little bit melancholy, sleep schedule’s still all over the place, and work is hectic.
JackSGreyson Says 