if i were a painter.

i think what hurts the most about remembering the things you thought were long gone, is the fact that they eluded your conscious mind for so long you allowed yourself to believe they no longer existed there.
forgetting pain is in itself one of life's greatest tragedies. some pains send us to emergency rooms, to asylums, some pains send us to church, to overgrown graveyards, some pains even send us to the doorsteps of those that lost us somewhere in the madness, to confront something that we never acknowledged but at the same time, never allowed it to leave our immediate thoughts. pain knows that human beings are by their very nature, selfish as hell. pain is fates way of saying, "okay asshole, you screwed up. fix it." and we do. not because we did wrong, not because we feel bad about it, but because it hurts- and we want it to stop. so much in fact, that we will assume the role of a loving, caring, honest and pure soul just to give our self-absorbed genetic material some momentary relief.

fate then, uses our asinine complex-holding human self-absorption against us, to make us better people. to make us stronger teachers to those who can't understand on their own. to make us more apt to understand why we need to use what we learn, to intervene the next time we see someone letting go too quickly, and most importantly-

to know when we should let them.