Sly ones

They creep up on you. You don’t know you care until you do. You’re indifferent, composed, convinced that life will go on as usual. It eventually does, in any case. You’ve held up and things are different this time because you’re not feeling too much. You’re learning not to.

Your memories scatter like ash in the wind and you think great, it’s the end and I’m fine. But you’ll find a coating of dust in unseen places, in forgotten corners when you’re looking for something else. You’ll be caught mid-thought, mid-step, when you sneeze. You’ll be in the rut of your routine, absent-minded, with the sleeve of your cardigan hanging loosely off your shoulder and a pen behind your ear when they wash over you. They’re not gone- they’ll wait patiently behind your eyelids. Even when you’ve got exams to study for, groceries to by, meals to cook and shows to watch, they’ll find a way to get to you. It’ll be like opening a suitcase that’s been kept under your bed, or reading a diary from when you were eight. There will be that same air of curiosity and excitement as you explore again what hasn’t been fully forgotten. For a moment you care. Or at least, for a moment you’re conscious that you do. Because really, your body remembers and your soul remembers how you once felt so you can always feel it again, if only for a moment. Is the soul the place where feelings are kept and tagged to be revisited? Is it an ancient that absorbs experience, every so often whispering and tousling secrets towards the surface? It grows and it learns. And you must learn that even though there is a price to feeling too much, there is a price to not feeling. The sly ones will show you what can’t be subdued.

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