Some memories were not worth holding on to.

Felix had been the sentimental type when he had been a much younger, more naïve boy, but back then, he had thought getting hurt on the regular was a normal thing for children to endure. His parents had brainwashed him into thinking it was his fault for being in their way when they were angry at someone else entirely, and it had taken years of therapy for him to get that dangerous thought out of his head.

There had been good memories. His mother had seemed proud of his high marks on his report cards, taking him out to get ice cream despite their low paychecks. Sometimes she would find him a small gift, like a keychain, or take him to an arcade or movie theater. Felix had held onto pictures she had insisted they take together whenever she bullied him into wearing matching clothes out in public, to present the image of a perfect family.

Now those photos were in a pile, burning in the fire pit he had picked out of someone’s trash for this very purpose. It would appall most that he took this step when his therapist encouraged him to continue to look at the good memories with fondness, but Felix would rather leave them in the past, would rather move on and let go of them. They were a reminder of the good times, but they always bled into the bad times, the moments in his life that he was still struggling to come to terms with.

Felix would rather burn those memories away and replace them with something better, replace them with memories of his wife and their daughter.