People often say they have forgotten. Forgot a person, a city, a summer. But memories are not lines written in chalk on a blackboard, just a wipe and they disappear. There are things we no longer mention, not because we have forgotten, but because we have learned how to pass through it and our hearts no longer waver.
When we were young, we often thought healing meant there would be a day we would not remember at all. No longer sad, regretful. Later we understood, healing is not forgetting. It's when remembering, the heart no longer aches. It's when we can tell a tragedy in a calm voice. It's when mentioning the name of a person who has passed away but still able to smile. Not because that person is no longer important, but because we have put them in another place in ourselves, where memories are no longer wounds, just a part of life.
There are wounds like the bones that broke when the weather changed, still simmering, but it no longer stops us from moving forward. Perhaps maturity is not about going through life without being hurt, but knowing how to live with things that cannot be changed. There are meetings that only happen once. There are people who only go with us for a short distance and then turn to another direction. And there are things that, no matter where you want to go, you cannot turn back.
If we keep trying to forget, we will be tired. If we keep holding on, we will be hurt. In the end, perhaps the only thing we can do is learn to put what has passed down gently. Like looking at an old photo. In the photo is still me of twenty years old, still that look, that smile, people who used to stand very close. Only the person holding the photo is different.
Perhaps that is the most wonderful thing in time, not making us forget, but making us far enough to be able to look back at the things that once made us cry without wanting to blame anyone. One day, we walk through the old street, listen to old songs, or suddenly see a familiar figure in the crowd. Our hearts still flutter, but we are no longer in a hurry to turn away. We no longer ask why. We just stand there for a moment, then move on.
Perhaps, forgetting has never been erasing a person from memory. Forgetting is when that person is still there, but no longer has the right to hurt us. And perhaps, in the end, what we learn is not to forget a person, but to learn to remember them while still living our own life.
