It's 4 AM on a Wednesday Morning.
I never feel happiness or sadness as much as I do when I look back. The present, though riled with emotion as it may be, doesnât dig far enough into the half-full chasm of my chest the way memory of it stings.
Thoughts of the past add a pang to the center of my body and I feel it all over again. All too intensely.
Like the days I spent in middle school, where I began my quest for love, a quest to find someone who could understand the cynical and near-to-emo ass that I was. All along, I had done so much for myself alone, and now I wanted to share and create with this one special being. How forsaken I was, to find my emotions so torn apart by what I had been seeking had always turned away from me. I was also never cool enough, never good looking or talented enough. To think and look back at what failures I had been a part of, the humiliating moments and fact that always pushed me back, I could have had all that I wanted.
But to see further, beyond my narrow scope, I had expanded my horizons to work on myself and found friends, friends few, and then friends too many. For when I reached out to new things, the people who were about these things also came with them. I had found happiness. But I had also maintained my longing and something below me always hurt. I had never found closure to my failures. It was not that I regretted my actions, but rather the idea that I HAD pulled myself away from who I wanted to have, could have been. I had only covered up my painful memories with happier ones.
But even to today, these happy memories, these high school parties, sneaking out of school early, Senior Skip Day, laughing, friends, heartbreak, desire, longing, happiness, looking back I am always finding myself sad. I was happy. But where is the happiness when I canât feel it? Why do I feel remorse, why do I feel regret?
What happened to me? Who was I? Did I leave myself behind in myelin and old photographs?
Did I drop a piece of myself, my sadness, in that first and only kiss from the girl I thought was the one of my dreams? She lifted me up and threw me back down that day. Did I leave it in the living room of my friendâs house? We used to throw everyoneâs birthdays there before a rumor made over 4 years of companionship null to the feelings of those final days. Did I leave it on the dusty bike trails and canals me and my rascal middle school friends used to frequent? No one lives near there anymore. Did I leave it home? Iâve been so far away for school, everyone including I have moved past each other. Did I leave it in the dorms, in the meeting rooms of organizations, and on the stages I used to exude and share blood with the people of the same passions? Iâve run dry, and so have they.
In these photos and not-yet-compromised thoughts, I know that I was happy. I know that I smiled, that I laughed and yet the caving pain still lingers. Was it that I was so happy, that it filled me up so much, I had to drop all of the baggage I was carrying with me then? Or am I just so distraught that I am no longer there and that I did not live within that moment the way I should have when I was? Â
But perhaps it is that I am not hurt, I am not lamenting. I am feeling. I am feeling all that I am, and I have dropped nothing, for I have continued to carry everything with me and I feel it all for the whole goddamn thing it is. Perhaps it is happiness and sadness all  at the same time. Perhaps it is me feeling me again to remember, to know that I am who I was beforeâfor the good and the bad. I am all that I can remember and I can feel it when I know who I am. I am hurt and I am joy. I am failure and I am achievement. I am compression and I am expression. I am broken and I am strong. And I feel and I feel for what I am and what I am is meâŠ
And I know I feel because I am sad, but most of all,
I know I am happy and that⊠feels good.
