cross-posted from ao3 - the original work was titled "let  go" and was published on Jul 29 2020

You take memories out of your bag, bags under your eyes.
You stuff them in a ziploc and toss them in a drawer, the one that holds your past, different trinkets from the past 5 years mixed altogether.
Time flows through your hands, and you grasp desperately. You have to let go, it's hurting your hands you know. Those hardworking hands typing in the middle of the night, or holding a pencil under the light.
Calloused fingers on steel strings, vibrations creating melodies in the air. Fingernails growing long out of neglect, you run them through your hair, unwashed for days. Under the solid dead keratin, white flakes of skin gather. You have death in your fingertips.
You keep trying to hold on, but it's all slipping.
Some memories are meant to be trashed, to make room for new ones to be made. Unnecessary details, minute, clogging up your space with lint and dust. They compile and before you know it, there's too much and you can't breathe. It gets into your eyes and draws out salty tears that slide down your cheeks.
Some memories are meant to be burnt. Words that seared into your skin you should let heal, washed. Some will scar, and that's okay, you made it through them. You have to burn them, let your rage be the fire that consumes it. And when the fire is gone, you forgive. Even without apology, you forgive, take away its power over you.
If it no longer sparks joy in your heart, if it takes the light from your eyes, tears bluntly under your skin, you have to let it go. You can't let the rope chafe your palm, sacrificing bits and pieces of yourself just holding onto a mirage long past.
And some memories can be cherished. Little receipts of dollar store runs, sticky notes of highlights in a day, letters from friends who wish you're okay. Pictures in a frame with a message at the back, a plushie or three, two books or a stack.
Dear, your heart is big, and that is enough. Your arms cannot carry all the pain of the past, and nostalgia is a lovely pair of rose-tinted glasses. You let go, and let your hands soften once again, you let it run over your skin, the bumps on your arms under sleeves.
And when the night is done, you change the music around. You turn off the lights, lay on the bed dressed in silk. And you hug your cat plushie tight, let it take the emotion you can't quite express, can't quite grasp. You curl up in the warmth, under the blanket, shielded from the breeze. Only your feet stick out, but not over the edge. You let go and you sleep.

Notes:

This is just something I wrote after going through a few old things like emails and stuff in my bag. Little bits of paper can be an easy reminder of things, and old conversations can tear you apart. So just let go of them, trash and delete what needs to be gone. If it doesn't spark joy for you anymore, you let it go. And you find joy in you and in other new places.