i told my therapist once that i was afraid of letting myself feel my anger. i said i didn’t want it to make me distort my own memory of people i love, and remember them in ways that aren’t true or loving because it’s all tainted with spite. turns out it’s very much the other way around — after anger and after hurt i come back to rosy rosy love, choose to remember that for the period someone was in my life i was often brought immense joy and pleasure. to say i love them anyway even if i would cross the road to avoid them.

these posts are me remembering.