I keep a journal, those papers. Avoiding forgetting is so important to me, but later I realize; all I want is just to forget everything. Memories are nothing but causing preoccupation. When some are captured in my mind, I smile (sometimes) knowing that they have occurred in the past. Some make me obsessed: I want to fly back to that time (that short time) and stop the time. I want to feel the happiness—but I do not know the difference between happiness and life without sadness; a flat one when sadness is absent.
I keep a journal, those papers. And I think you can guess from what I’ve written that I am someone who loves repetition. True. I am immensely obsessed with a moment that I want to repeat (I have one now in my head: absurd and unreasonable moment; it was me and a stranger). All I want is to forget everything. Because being obsessed is a torture. Memory is nothing but a torture, at least for now, because I want to forget. Should I destroy my journal? It is not necessary, because it is already stuck in my head. Destroy my head then.
I keep a journal, those papers. And I realize that it’s not the matter of avoiding forgetting, but I am addicted to the great feeling of putting down words (It is comparable to orgasm). Memory is a torture; and if I find beauty in it, I am obsessed to repeat it, and if I find sadness in it, I am drown in sorrow.
I keep a journal, those papers. A blank one. Life is about keep going. I can never stop the time.
(Graphic: “You are obsessed” are made by me. http://www.redbubble.com/people/silentstead/works/9687866-you-are-obsessed?c=174228-words-and-designs)