Shallow graves

Some memories, like bodies, should be buried deep.  By all means, listen to the bell, tolling their death knell.  Weep at their wake and mark where they lay.  But then cover them with deep layers and do not disturb them, for the sight of corpses, long dead, bodes no good.

Some memories need marking.  To these, erect monuments, proud and tall and strong, revealing to all where they lie, conceal nothing, remember everything.  Mark your vows.

Some memories need a special place.  Scatter their ashes across much loved ground, to be revisited and savoured.  Savour the birth of a child.

Some memories need recognition.  Remembrance.  The creation of new, temporarily suspended, whilst we pause and remember the old, before returning, once more. Remember your father.

Some memories need nothing.

But some memories are best forgotten.  Bury them deep to disguise the smell of rotting flesh.  Hide them away, unmarked and unvisited for they will attract those with a taste for such things. Memories buried in shallow graves are all too easily discovered.  Too easily dug up in moments of weakness and regret.  Memories buried in shallow graves are accidentally stumbled upon and others may not be as forgiving.  Others may get hurt.  Others may hold you responsible and hunt you down, seeking to punish and exact revenge.  Better to burn them, erasing all evidence that they ever existed.  They never happened.