Maybe...

Maybe* memories are something that we need to learn to push away at times...you know, tie them up with a ribbon and shove them in a corner of our minds. They're there when we want to pull them out, but at least they're not scattered, floating, piercing every thought that dares play itself out on the screen in front of us.

Maybe moving doesn't have to be so forced, so mechanical, like being sucked into a whirlpool or being carried away like silt on a tide. Maybe it has to be a choice to pull up the anchor that holds you down just so you can feel the breeze in your hair. And enjoy the journey to the next port. Even wandering can lead you to gold mines.

Maybe life is like a piece of wood being scraped. It hurts, of course; even that paper-thin wood-shaving that falls to the ground, light as a feather, "trivial", is a part of the whole. But that sacrifice helps shape, carve, consolidate, smoothen the part that's left into something recognizable, stronger, more beautiful.

And of course, maybe these are all just "meringue"** words and theories. What do I know.

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*A "response" to an article by a friend. And these are just thoughts, not necessarily those that I (always) believe.
**(Too much studying) Look Back in Anger by John Osborne. That dude had a way with words, oh yeah.