Holidays mean memories. Stirring up the past. Some things are best left unstirred, like a pot of boiling rice or a long lost love. Just because someone got your crotch wet a year ago doesn’t mean they’ll succeed this time. Nor should they be given another chance.

No, some bridges are wholly burned.

It’s easier to think of ex-friends as bastards. Cowards. My memory skews toward these oversimplifications because it’s a neat little package of a story better left untold. Better left unthought.

Despite all the good, I’d rather not remember any of it because of the bad. Perhaps it’s unfair of my conscience to do such a thing. Perhaps it’s doing myself a disservice, to deny myself the memories. But it’s definitely a self-preservation tactic. One I’m not likely to let go of for some time.

I ought to know better.

The silver lining to all this is that I’m moving forward, into the new year with only those that love me. Those that care for me, support me, and would do anything for me. And that’s a pretty fucking great consolation prize. xoxo