Selective memories.

With the passing of the years, the bitterness seems to have reduced. I can’t remember the ugly fights anymore. I can’t remember the tears, the heated arguments, the inability to bear your presence in the same room. What keeps coming back is the innocent happiness that we shared: taking little bites off the same guava as we waited outside XII A for the rains to stop; smelling the freshly mowed grass as we lay on our backs staring up at the clear blue sky; sitting in the canteen, holding hands under the table so no one would notice. I would wear a yellow flower in my hair and orange earrings for you. You would take your shirt off and walk bare feet to flaunt your free spirit for me.

Your memories have slowly become disconnected fragments. I can rearrange them, putting whichever piece I like first, and throwing away the ones that I don’t. I have forgotten all about you. I remember all about you.

And for the first time, I don’t mind forgetting. And remembering.