Memory is a few lines snipped from a larger story that we are privileged to tuck away between the pages of our minds.

It’s not that I can’t remember. It’s that I prefer not to remember, which means that I prefer not to remember what not remembering did to me the last time I did it.

We have the power of the pen to write the next chapter, and the privilege to author the page in whatever fashion we choose. Yet, seldom do we understand the power of the pen and the privilege of the page.

To the best of my recollection, I must recall on my memory, I cannot remember

Do I forget, or do I refuse to remember?

In my desperation, I have finally discovered that the only way that I can begin to fill the gaping hole within me is to be thankful for what’s there, and not angry for what’s not.