Bittersweet loops

Sometimes, we fall into bittersweet loops of our lives willingly.

Like listening to a somber but melodious song and then playing it on repeat, never wanting it to end.

The other day, both the things happened. First, I stumbled on Celia Pavey’s Laura and then, I was gifted old memoirs of what’s likely the most beautiful (and yet tumultuous) period of my life.

I’ve been in another new loop ever since.

From the other side of the fence, it has been so easy to say things like, “well, you’ve got to move on, champ”.

But I’m a sucker for nostalgia. I’ve been running through loops of cherished memories in search of something I’ll never know. Almost two years gone, several more to go perhaps.

From this vantage point, my respect for people who aren’t able to move on — or better yet, for people who refuse to move on — has grown. Not that it’s desirable not to move on, but I understand why we relapse into the melancholy so frequently. And so willingly.

People coping with loss seem to have this strange addiction to live through the loving memories… in an infinite loop. Loss by death, loss by unexpected separation and loss by any other means leaves in its wake a long string of beautiful memories that the word “bittersweet” hardly does any justice to.

You see when you traverse through the memories, there’s this feeling of actually living in those same time periods as those memories. Temporary reversal of loss, may be. Whatever it is, it’s so palpable that in those moments, life seems to have rewound and yet leapt forward. It feels as if accidents of the past did not happen and the future has been drawn from a different, happier timeline.

Perhaps that’s why it is so addictive. Perhaps that’s why the loop attracts with such magnetism.