Sometimes, memories feel like soft pillows… and sometimes they feel like stones in your chest. It’s confusing, honestly. The same moment that once made you smile can suddenly become the reason your eyes get heavy at night.
I was thinking about this the other day. Not in a deep, planned way. Just randomly. You know how it happens — you’re doing something simple, maybe sitting alone, maybe scrolling your phone, and suddenly a memory walks in like it owns the place.
And you don’t even invite it.
The strange thing is… we don’t really control which memories stay strong. Some small, meaningless moments stay forever. And some big, important ones? They fade like they were never there.
I still remember random things. A laugh that didn’t even last long. A small conversation that had no big meaning. A normal day that wasn’t supposed to be special. But now, it feels heavy. Why? I don’t even know.
Maybe memories don’t follow logic.
Sometimes, I feel like memories are better than reality. Because in memory, everything is… softer. Even pain becomes a kind of quiet story. You can replay it, reshape it, sit with it. Real life doesn’t give you that comfort. Real life just happens, fast, rough, without pause.
But at the same time, memories can be worse too.
Because you can’t go back.
That’s the real pain.
You remember how something felt… but you can’t feel it again the same way. You remember people… but they are not the same anymore, or maybe they’re not even there. And that gap — between what was and what is — that’s where the heaviness lives.
I think that’s why people sometimes avoid thinking too much. Not because they don’t care, but because they care too much. And once you start remembering deeply, it doesn’t stop easily.
But still… I don’t think memories are bad.
They are proof that something mattered.
Even the painful ones… they show that you felt something real. In a world where many things are fake or temporary, having something that stays inside you — even as a memory — maybe that’s not the worst thing.
I’ve started to see memories differently now. Not as something to escape from, but something to understand slowly. Not every memory needs to be relived. Some just need to be accepted.
Like… okay, this happened. It was good, or maybe it hurt. But it was part of me.
And that’s enough.
Maybe memories are not meant to make us happy all the time. Maybe they are just there to remind us that we lived, we felt, we cared.
And honestly… that’s already something big.