All truths are constructed, and constantly re-constructed by time. It is so hard for me to accept this. Like, the scar on my chin and the three inch bruise on my knee. It fucking hurt when it happened, but time transformed that pain into a physically palpable but virtually empty space. With time, the scar will fade a bit, the bruise completely. Or the writing projects that were so important to me one year, two years ago; spending sleepless nights, crying, taking up smoking, feeling crushed by the impossibility of it. And now, nothing but several Word documents on my hard drive that I read when I get nostalgic. Or the boy I used to love so fucking much I thought I might maybe give up everything for him. And now, I can’t even remember really the sound of his voice, the particular inflections and intonations. 

If time erases every single pain, then what’s the point? But then again. Now, when I fall, my hands instinctively rush forward to break that fall. My scar taught me this. I might bang my knee against another piece of furniture, but probably never again against my dresser drawer. My bruise taught me this. I will never again approach a writing project thinking that I will never feel the spark to produce. Four years in college taught me this. I will never again love somebody with no reservations. The boy whose voice I can’t remember taught me this.