by Monica Bustamante Wagner
Some things are better forgotten. You pick up a shovel, dig a hole in your mind, and watch the memory fall and fall into the black void till you hear the thud when it reaches the bottom. Then you refill the hollow with soil, smooth it down with the back of your shovel, and walk away in oblivion. Until one day a scent triggers a thought, the breeze murmurs his name, and the oak trees of the landscape remind you of him. The memory crawls its way up, like a mole emerging to the sunlight. You loved, you hated, you forgave, but you will never forget.
Monica Bustamante Wagner has a Bachelor’s in business and a Master’s in HHRR. She loves to write and is currently finishing a YA novel (while nursing her newborn and helping her older boys finish their homework).