When Eyes Remember What the Mind Tries to Forget

There are moments when I catch my own reflection and realize my eyes still carry stories I swore I let go of.Memories I’ve buried so carefully, tucked beneath logic and time, still flicker behind a blink.I don’t talk about them, not because I’m afraid, but because I wouldn’t know where to begin.It’s like my subconscious has taken the shape of a quiet guardian, one who remembers even when I forget.And sometimes, it reminds me through a dream, a silence, a song at 2AM.

Through the way my chest tightens without warning.Or how I hesitate before trusting someone new.I think our minds try to protect us by forgetting. But the body, the soul, the eyes, they remember.They echo the things we’ve never said aloud. They mourn what we didn’t get to grieve.And in that space between remembering and healing, something beautiful still exists.Something real.

Maybe that’s why I feel so much when the world goes quiet.Maybe that’s why my subconscious feels like a person who knows me better than I do.She never forgets who I was, even when I’m pretending to move on.She watches. She listens. She reminds.And I guess that’s where I find my honesty. Not in words, but in what I never needed to say.

Maybe remembering isn’t a wound—it’s just proof that I once felt something real.