Forgive and forget, forgive and forget, forgive and forget… Forgive and forget… Every time I attempt to write, these three words cling to my consciousness, hardly letting a flake or wisp of another thought through, building this wall that, quite honestly, I don’t know the origin of, nor how to demolish it. Who must I forgive? What must I forget? I feel that I may have accomplished the latter, but I’m certain there are a few people in my life I need to forgive, chiefly myself. But what ever for?
Am I somehow creating a detrimental presence in my writing? Does someone I know criticize it an a way that has excoriated my mental nerves, fraying them anew with each pen- or key-stroke? Have I not forgiven myself for the deaths of friends who once wrote? Am I meant to write as an occupation, and blame all who led me and allowed me to go astray from that Calling?
I guess it doesn’t matter, and ignorance must be bliss. I do not feel the damage that must have been done to cause this mantra… But I don’t want to know what will happen when I discover its meaning.
Forgive and forget, forgive and forget…