is something that most of us, who've loved someone truly (or at least thought we did), would have experienced. But what does it truly mean to let go and move on. And when we have 'moved on', have we really let go of the past, its memories, and the person who once took centrestage in our world?
Is 'we' here the universal we or the 'royal' we? I don't know ...
It's been quite a while and yet I have not yet let go of that episode in my life. Sometimes I think I have moved on but on hindsight the contrary seems to be the greater truth. Perhaps it's a sense of nostalgia - reminiscing a past that was never quite there, never quite real since, as Baz Luhrman says, nostalgia is a form of recovering the past, reminiscing and painting over the painful and unwanted, repackaging it, for the present, for more than its really worth.
Often, the ebb and flow of life pushes us along whether we choose to ride the waves or not and in time the pain eases; time pushes the memories further out-shore. We think we've moved on because we've learnt to smile again and live without the pain. But in some twist of 'dis-acknowledgement', the pain lies dormant. Moving on?
But how does one really move on, to look back at the past and smile? I think it's possible. I'm just not quite sure how. Maybe it's the intermittent resurgence of communication that always ends in a tragedy almost too formulaic and cliched. Maybe the frightening truth that I wish not to face is trailing me, like ball and chain, with every recollection of the past, its memories, its moments, the person ... perhaps the truth is that I'm unwilling to forget and let go.
We often know what's best for us and yet beneath our imbued rationality, there is a sub-conscious unwillingness to follow one's own advice. I'm coming to understand how the widest distance is that which is between your head and heart.
Strange ... hauntings, spectres, trace(s); history clutches our present and can sometimes suffocate.
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