((since I'm only passingly familiar with Fish, I can't be sure of the accuracy, but I wrote this for fun))

Lethe:

They say, that vague, authorities “They”, that Ignorance is Bliss. It could have also been argued that it was something like having bug bites. Knowing they’re there, but knowing that the temptation to itch them is a self destructive and alluring path.

If you don’t itch them, you can almost ignore them, that hot little crawling itch that feels like something has nested right under your skin and is poking at you with tiny pointy little claws. You can almost ignore that part. Well… not ignore, but you learn to work around it, to find little distractions and big distractions that let you move around those little bumps without jostling them into too much activity.

However the second you give in, when you reach down and give in to the need to scratch, that’s when the truth about them comes out. The initial sensation is spectacular, the most wonderful sense of relief washes over you, practically sexual, and you can’t help but think how wonderfully worth it that you stopped to scratch. So you scratch, you roll yourself around in the bliss and the moment of relief, and you think you’re going to go on with your day.

That’s when it hits you, the return of –the itch-. Worse than before, it invades your nerve endings and demands more scratching, more attention, more investigation…

Maybe it was more accurate to say that this was about lost memories. He considered this, vaguely, like he was considering scratching an itch, though he’d already told himself he wasn’t going to scratch; whatever he had to do to assuage the itch without scratching, to smooth them over until the little broken fragments smoothed over, and stopped poking him, begging to be itched. To be investigated. To be remembered.

He didn’t want to remember. He didn’t ever want to remember. He just wanted the bug bites… the memories… to heal over and be gone.