Forgetting is too easy.

 

I went all September without really thinking about it, and then some dummy had to bring up patronuses. It’s horrible that I shy away from questions about my happiest memory…what would I use to drive away the specters that leach the goodness from the world.

 

Some part of me tries to argue that this certainly couldn’t be my happiest memory, and I would need to think more carefully before I could really pick one, but I think this whining internal voice is the one that’s always trying to be evasive and defensive and inadvertently cluing me in to my efforts to deceive myself.

 

Personally, I think this is something more like choosing test answers, where you should go with your first choice because a lot of times it’s probably the right one.

 

I hate to think that it’s the right one…that out of all the good things that have happened to me, whenever I’m confronted with this question, I zero back in on this cluster of things that are some of the stupidest good memories ever.

 

And I hate that Wolf doesn’t lie to me the way that little voice does. Instead, he sits with a still-beating heart in his monsterous palm, and tries to make sense of the way the third degree burns have ever-so-slowly been reversing themselves, exposing the scar where someone tried to jam a stake through it.

 

 

I was like that for roughly three years, but they didn’t get me. Weren’t really trying to, I guess. I forget that sometimes though. Now and then, I even think that since I lived, maybe I cannot be killed. It’s not true. I just forget sometimes. Forget that it was an accident. Forget that I was lucky.

 

I forget until the phantom of these sounds are on my ear and I can’t stop hearing them. I forget until I take my own heart out and look at it again and the dark voice that is my Wolf says, “yes, this happened.”

 

 

 

I’ll try not to forget.

I may even admit that I am mortal.

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