I found some papers that I wrote 18 years ago. I had written them during a week at Club Med Cancun. I became sick during my stay there and had to stay a couple of days in my room. So I decided to write a short story, with a big element of autobiography in it. Well, let's just say I changed a few names here and there.
So today I began to read those 15 hand written pages again. They were full of "life is not fair" statements. Of self pity. Of expecting so much from life. It was interesting to note that I used to think like that. It was pretty awful writing, overall.
But it did feature a couple of paragraphs describing moments I had forgotten about. Small, joyful moments. Words spoken. Smiles exchanged. Two very good paragraphs that reminded me of days long past.
For a moment I thought whether to keep those papers or simply throw them away. It was tempting to simply say, "Forget it", that was the past.
They are still there in my drawer. Maybe I'll read them again in 20 years.