My Memories Are String Knotted To My Bones

I am made up of string, pieces of thread connecting me to a morgue of people, places, and memories I’ve once loved. 

Do you ever think about going back?

Well, of course. I think about it all the time. As someone who is sentimental to a fault, mulling over past events and periods of my life takes up too much of my brain capacity. The real question is, would I actually ever go back? That gives way to a whole avalanche of different responses. 

I don’t I could ever bring myself to relive history, even if I had the ability to do so. These threads that tie me to my past are a constant reminder of who I once was. Some of these threads are like spiderwebs, thin and barely noticeable, but they are strong. Some threads feel like chains, a constant reminder of the things I’ve been through as I enter new chapters of my life. 

I’ve pulled at these threads before, traced them back to where they are rooted. Maybe that’s why today, I’m less likely if at all, to ever go back. Some threads are knotted in happy moments, tangled up in laughter and love and perfect memories. But as I follow them back, I will find the string frayed at some parts, some sections worn down to barely any material by constantly chafing against the corners I’ve turned in my life. These imperfections carry grief. They remind me of the misery I’ve endured in between the cracks of the joyous moments, cautioning me that highs aren’t without lows. If I were to go back, would I be willing to suffer through heartbreak again? Would I be willing to accept the torment of impermanence? 

Where the threads are cemented to me hold lessons I’ve learned, hold the pain I’ve withstood in order to grow. And if I were to go back, having already learned the things I needed to, having already met the people who are supposed to remain in my life, what would be the purpose? Would returning to the past undo all that I have built for myself? Silly me. Regardless, it’s all moot because the reality is I can’t. Grounding myself in a version I used to be instead of who I am now is not how we are meant to live. Doing so won’t produce a thread but rather a blood trail, stains representing a rejection of growth. 

It’s the fear and anticipation that compels me to say no if asked. This dichotomy stretches me thin, yanks on the threads that pull me back, and makes the future tighten its grip on me. I relish the nostalgia of old friendships and relationships because it’s comforting to return to someone who already knows me to my core. I wonder what it would be like to never have to open up ever again, to never have to pry open my ribs and expose my beating heart to a stranger. It’s funny because vulnerability is the last thing I want someone to see in me, but it’s the first thing I look for in someone else. I find some sort of deranged comfort in having the security of people who already know me, people who I do not have to explain myself to. Knowing my morning routine is different than knowing my favorite color. I think about how exhausting it is for someone new to learn the intimacies of my being, and I’m tempted to answer “yes”. 

But the anticipation, the beam of hope of what has yet to come is more powerful. How beautiful it is that I have not lived my happiest day yet. How beautiful it is to think that what is meant for me will never pass me by! Everything that has come and gone has already served its purpose, and there is no reason for me to return to something, to someone whom I’ve already wrung my experiences out of. And to think that in a couple of months time, in a couple of years, I will look back at this moment and thank my lucky stars that I did not squander my youth by wishing to turn back time. In a couple of years, I will be grateful that I spent more time thinking about who I could be rather than who I had been. I’d taken the lessons I’ve learned to help me blossom and bloom instead of regretting mistakes that I can’t undo. 

So, do you ever think about going back? 

Yes, all the time. But I would never. Not for the sake of the people I have yet to meet, the people I have yet to love, the places I have yet to see, and the person I have yet to become.