Scavenging through forgotten folders of my abandoned old laptop I stumbled upon entries I did for a previous blog and I shrivel in horror. Who wrote all these insane twaddle? I cannot believe I was reading hysterical entries that provoke pure mortification. Good thing I shed the dang thing. Ugh. If ever someone I know in real life find all these sentimental tripe (I blogged in the past) I’ll never live to hear the end of it. “Some things are better off buried for good,” My aunt used to declare. I knew there was more to that pronouncement than her husband’s bell bottom pants.
Human habit would have it to cling stubbornly to a good feeling. You dwell on it, refusing to discard, lingering its welcome, outstaying its passing, intentionally swimming in the last shimmering slivers of warmth.
Eventually you smarten up. You wake up buoyant, assured of newfound resolve never to be vulnerable again. But for now, just for a little longer, your heart sinks, you throb in delicious agony, fluctuating between nostalgia and despair.