Oh dear, where to begin? It seems a simple tap, a fleeting moment of sharing, has spun our little world off its axis. You shared a virtual echo, but did you pause, even for a heartbeat, to ponder its impact? What an adventure it would have, what a heart-breaker, a heart-wrencher…. why didn’t you give it a second thought?
Those callous pixels dig up a past I’ve been burying with all the grace and dedication of a gardener tending to their most delicate blooms. Ah, what a jolt to the system it was, a flashback delivered with the swiftness of lightning—no warning, no gentle lead-in. Just… there, a stark reminder of what was, or what we were trying to let fade into the mists of memory.
It feels almost as if, in your rush to connect, to share, to perhaps what I don’t want to think of, you forgot that memories are not one size fits all. They fit snugly in some corners of our minds, yet in others, they jostle uncomfortably, unwelcome guests that we thought had left.
Wasn’t it a tad insensitive, my friend, to throw open the gates to those memories without so much as a whisper of warning? I ponder, if the roles were reversed, would you not wish for a moment of forethought, a simple question that could brace the soul for the oncoming storm? I didn’t want to write the latter but already penned it.
Ah, it was a period when my arms resembled the aftermath of a frenzied art project, adorned with an array of bruises and scratches. They waged a relentless war on my confidence, scrambling my thoughts and peace for what felt like aeons and never-ending. And just when the dust had begun to settle, you, my dearest of friends, with a finesse only life could bring about, decided it was prime time for a rerun. Ah, the question that gnaws at me: why did fate deem it necessary to arm my cherished companion with the ability to resurrect ghosts I thought had been laid to rest?
The writer can be reached at ha*********@***il.com
The Test of Time’s Gentle Brutality
