Ashamedly watching Sex and the City alone (key word here: alone), tears come... and I am so surprised. What in the world could I possibly be mourning now?
I really do think that we are born the way we are going to die. The whole point is that we live chronologically. Time is just the way we experience things on a conscious level. I am the girl I was when I was seven and the girl I will be when I am seventy. The conscious moments are the only things that technically define how we live. Matrix anyone? Sensory perceptions, feeling of existence, blah blah blah. That's the only way we know, right? Know what one moment is to the next?
And when I think of it that way, it sort of means I have to let certain temporal memories die if I want to stop living them-
the memories aren't really who I am. They of course contribute, but I am who I am because of
everything, and I won't be changed if I let some of those memories die. I'll still be where I am temporally, right? Chronologically, sensibly, realistically.
God, that's sad. I don't want to let some of those memories go. I mean, I know I have to. So I'm in mourning for some of those memories. I miss him sometimes. Some of that beauty. And even so, which "him"? All of them. Sometimes that beauty is more painful than the past, which is why I have to let it go. The burn of what could have been versus the ugly reality of what really was. The beauty was there, but it only showed me what could be. The pain was the more real of the emotions at the time.
And that pain was very me- it was nice to really want something- even if I knew I couldn't have it. And for the most part, especially if I knew I couldn't have it.
I am crazy. I miss the pain.
The imperfections are forever. The conscious moments can be forgotten.
But how can I forget all of those beautiful moments of crazy love and still somehow recall the ugly moments of horrid masochistic pain?
That's unfair.
I miss the good ones.
And I'm sick of thinking about the bad ones.
