Closure.

How do you obtain that, when you're beyond repairable damage, when what you feel is more like an empty casket brimming with decomposing memories of no sustenance.
Yet the stench so strong it wears on your clothes years and years after it's over.

If we could highlight the files containing old memories subjected to a state of redundancy... except to cause you the occasional heartache and a sense of sickening nostalgia that you do not want, nor need.
and you could suppress it all, crunch it up like the trash it is.
And toss it all away.

Would it be worthy to lose a part of your identity for it?

To have stepped in front of you, and realize I never known you at all, rather to go through repetitive state of torment?

I'd dare say it would.

Once again, ignorance is indeed the biggest bliss of all.