Memories can be wicked things, they remind you of what you've lost, your mistakes, others' mistakes, second chances that you messed up . . . these are all bad memories. Everyone has their own way of dealing with memories like these. I choose to repress them.
There are two people in this world who have made the biggest impacts on my life. The two people who made me laugh so hard I cried, the two people who I loved, the two people who I lost, the two people who hate me, the two people who I try my hardest not to think about or I will end up on the floor sobbing.
In the darkness of my mind stand two big, old-fashioned, wooden doors. I can visualize them perfectly. The mahogany colored wood is perfectly intact; a bit of greenery is growing beside the doors. Both doors stand side by side, darkness separating them. There is lettering on both doors. The first door reads "Ikilln00bs54", the second simply spells "Chelsey". These doors weren't always in my mind, but I subconsciously built them up, shoving any memories associated with these two people behind the appropriate doorway, then sealing it up with a huge metal lock.
Behind the door of Ikilln00bs54 lie all the memories of our conversations when we were friends. When we met each other, where we saw each other, what we did, and what I did that screwed up our friendship. The second chance he gave me, and how I messed that up too.
Behind the door of Chelsey lie the memories of our friendship, from when we were 4 years-old to when we were 13 years-old. All our fights, all our fun, then of course the final fight. How she turned to alcohol and drugs. How she threatened to kill me, how I have not been able to laugh so hard I cried since we last hung out.
I can't afford to remember memories of these two people. I have repressed so many regarding them that some of the memories are so far back behind the doors that they are unreachable, forgotten. Funny thing is, memories are easy to repress. What's hard to repress are the emotions associated with those memories. It's impossible to shake off the emotions I feel when I see my old friends, now my enemies.
Out of these two people, there's one I want back the most. The one I wish for on every shooting star I see, the one I wish for on 11:11, the one I think about when I go to sleep at night. Not the one who did me wrong, but the one who I did wrong. If I had the chance, I would give up one for the other and not give it a second thought.
But in reality, I will never get either of those people back. And the two doors will remain locked in my mind.