Spring Exorcism

It’s been an evening of tears. I suppose they tend to continue flowing once the floodgates, but I’ve done little to reclose those gates. I tend to think they’re healthy and cleansing.
I began reading Norwegain Wood in the afternoon, and intermittently I’ve made my way through the first 90 pages. It was the start of the tears. It’s a remarkably touching book thus far, filled with an amount of detail and tenderness that balances just on the edge of tear ducts. It takes a lot for a book to bring forth such strong emotions for me, so I consider this a good sign for the remainder of this novel.
Of course, as the trickling went on, two songs that have a lot of sentimental value to me queued up on my playlist. Collective Soul’s “Crown” and “She Said” were long among my favourite songs by my favourite band, and they carry years of history for me because I listened to them during most days. “Well I hope I’m not lost, but I think that hope is now distracting. And the words that secure a thought are now faint whisperings,” from “Crown,” resonates with a potency I remember feeling in my youth, but had tucked away like a note in a book I intend to reread but never do.
Nostalgia works in strange ways. There are memories I don’t believe I should have held on to, memories of seemingly trivial details. I recall two girls who I had substantial crushes on (it seems my crushes were always with pairs of girls who were friends). They were friends of some degree, though it seemed they drifted apart in later years. One lunch hour I walked down stairs with them and was so nervous that when they said hello to me I was able to only answer one of them, leaving the other to ask if I didn’t like her or was mad at her. I looked back at that and many other mistakes I made for years with a sense of heaviness.
In my pre-high school education I was harassed and became a loner, with spurts of friendships and almost-acceptance. I found solace in books, music, and a few other interests I had at the time. I remember playing basketball alone as one of those solitary distractions from my life at school.
My home life was a blessing, and likely what kept me from falling apart back then. I’ve always considered myself very lucky to have grown up with supportive parents who allowed me to have many enriching experiences in my childhood.They happened to have some great books and music around, and that undoubtably was a great help in surviving.
For a period of about a year during elementary school I made my own comics. I was quite a terrible drawer, and the stories were filled with cliches, but I kept at it, sharing them each day with one of the few friends I had at that stage. I suppose that was one of the early signs of my inclination toward being a storyteller, as shallow as those stories were.
Two of the most harmful things someone can do are to hide away the past and to become haunted by the past. I’ve done both far too often. I’ll give my memories to the air, breath them in when the need arises and believe that what fragments I can tell have some value, at least in the spring exorcism.

“Who’s gonna be the answer to all of my questioning?” *

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