He was like any other baby is when they are first born.
Slimy, wet, bug eyed, and starving.
Denver had 59 brothers and sisters.
Some were twins, some were stillborn some were absolute assholes.
But overall Denver has good memories of them, I'm glad he can remember his childhood like that.
They all sat together in their little fish pods, laying about and talking about how weird their parents actually looked.
Because you see, when you have 59 other versions of yourself slammed into the same place, two full grown betta fish look like fat sparkly magicians.
When I think back to my childhood, the first thing I think about is that it sucks that I don't remember much of it like Denver does. But I don't get too down on it, because there was obviously a reason why I discarded those memories. Reasons like pain, terror, unimportance, or mental disfunctionality.
We all can't have incredible infantile memory power like fish.
So how come I have some memories of these other things though?
I don't remember where I got the scar on my wrist from.
(Some nasty people make judgements.)
Yet I remember when I was in the 4th grade during P.E. class. We were playing kickball and I distinctly remember breaking my nail.
I remember the color of the dirt beneath my feet, how hot it was outside, what the peel of pain felt like on my finger. But where did this tiny scar on my wrist come from? When?
How come I barely remember the high school Christmas dance but I remember when I was young, sitting in the bathtub and discovering that I had a birthmark next to my navel?
Why do I remember the sad breakup I had almost three years ago--something that actually made me feel hurt, but I don't remember the breakup that happened in 9th grade which was meaningless, mutual, and nondramatic?
I push away some pains, circumstances, memories, good or bad, yet I lock on to others.
How dare my brain decide what is worth keeping and what gets thrown into the wood chipper.
I wish I remembered why I wanted to write this.
See you,
A&D
No comments:
Post a Comment