of my mind. Memories stored, mostly forgotten now sitting in the dust covered boxes, bins and bags of my life. Some how, along the perilous way, one is able to take the most wrenching, disturbing, offensive, hurtful acts and stuff them into containers and close the lid on them. Out of sight, out of mind. Ah, but are they? No…Out of sight, but always seeking escape beneath the lids. Unresolved, pure acid, destructive to all. ‘Welcome’ can be so deceiving up in the attic of my mind.
SwittersB & Exploring 
I’m probably too quick to give advice…so I didn’t comment the first couple of times I read this. however…
someone I cared for and I had a conversation similar to your post.
in time she made a rather hemmingway-esque decision.
so I say…
you put it in the attic for a reason.
you didn’t put it in your dresser drawer like dad’s pocket knife.
leave it there and don’t open those boxes.
there’s nothing you really need to see again.
is there?
LikeLike
Not at this point in life…thank you…very kind
LikeLike
Truly, truly.
LikeLike