[ Wp ] Every night , you take out a memory and put it in a container

Every night I sleep a little easier. 
 
 That is because of the jar beside my bed. Right now, in the morning sun, it is clear, and it is empty. 
 
 Just before I go to bed, at the same time without fail, I press my fingers against my temple, and I pull. 
 
 The memories do not come easily. They cling to the walls of my skull, black, and viscous, and thick. 
 
 The harder I pull the more intense the memory becomes, until it as vivid as the day I lived it. Some of them make me buckle, and writhe, and cry out in agony. 
 
 I still have so many left. A lifetime of broken promises, of infidelity and regret, petty little lies, and failures unbecoming of a man. Friendships left in ruin out of spite and neglect. There rests a mother on her deathbed clinging to a phone that will not be answered. 
 
 Once the memory has had it's fill of my pain I open the jar and let the freezing liquid drip from my fingers. I watch it roil, and dissolve for a moment, before climbing into bed. 
 
 I am 27. 
 
 Every night I sleep a little easier, but I can not yet see a time when I will not need this fucking jar.
