It needed to be said.

One time I wrote this poem-esque thing, and the last line said:

"Hindsight is a vindictive bitch that preys on the nostalgic."

(I just quoted myself. I'm so cool.)

At certain times in my life, maybe when Hubs and I aren't seeing eye-to-eye on certain things (I think I'm the queen of the world, he sometimes forgets my royal status...you know, the usual), or maybe when I've had too much caffeine and can't sleep, or perhaps I see or hear something that triggers a semi-forgotten memory...nostalgia totally kicks my ass.

I used to be quite hard on myself about it.

How could I possibly think fondly of anyone I used to love when I have this amazing man that I'm currently (and as long as we both shall live) loving?

My guilty conscience couldn't decide if this was "mind-cheating" or merely "recounting the facts". After all, I wasn't imagining any sort of future, just rose-colored reminiscing about a past that seemed...incomplete.

After much introspection, I decided it was human nature. At least, human nature of a woman. I'm pretty sure Hubs tells me every time he even thinks of his ex. He wears his heart prominently on his sleeve. Black and white. A solid oak tree.

But here's the thing. At twenty-seven years old, it's only natural that I've lived and loved before him. And the part of my brain that remembers didn't leak out of my ears, no matter how many tears of tequila and heartbreak were cried onto barroom floors, trying to forget.

There is no forgetting. To forget would be to deny a part of me. To pretend I was someone I'm not.

I am many things. So many things. I don't apologize for any of them. And I don't regret.

Hindsight keeps me honest, because I know that nostalgia can cause delusion.

Nostalgia blurs memories of hours of emotionally detached silence. Affection held at arms' length. Priorities skewed and boundaries crossed. Loneliness, uncertainty, anxiety.

Nostalgia only remembers when things were perfect. A favorite restaurant. Christmases and the rare times I made him laugh. Solidarity. Wine and great sex. The music.

There is a point where hindsight turns love into cliche.

And maybe, if you're lucky, the healing begins.

In a perfect world, there is a balance between nostalgia and hindsight. In reality, the scale is often tipped.

There are no good explanations for the memories you hold close to your heart. They are all important, in different ways. They all matter. They are valid, and timeless.