i would have liked to say i knew better. that the bubbling hurt just below the heart was just a momentary foolishness of a bodily reaction. but my body knows better than i ever will. and if insanity is doing the same thing repeatedly, expecting different results, then what is doing the same thing repeatedly, knowing the same results happen, and yet doing it anyway? ignorance, stupidity, or is it what they call hope? i handle memories like a hot potato dancing from one hand to the next, refusing to put them down and risking the burn because i hope the temperature will be, at some point, cool enough to hold onto tightly. i wished i could put down memories like i would a potato. instead, they become my best friends and worst enemies, filling me with such sad happiness that all i want to do is sit under running water, hoping the sad will wash away and leave happiness. i fear the dreams that bring me good times that are no more, because waking and getting out of bed becomes that more difficult. i rely on the voice of my better judgment to dig me out of my holes, or at least call me to let me know the surface and sunshine are not so far away. but like i said, i wish i knew better. i can never know better. i know fuller, i know deeper. i know stronger, with the passing of each day, that i am much closer to the person i am meant to be.