Author: Bage PM
Not really poetry, but not really fiction. Eh.Rated: Fiction T - English - Hurt/Comfort/Poetry - Words: 421 - Reviews: 2 - Favs: 1 - Published: 08-07-10 - Status: Complete - id: 2835965
|A+ A- Full 3/4 1/2 Expand Tighten|
I don't want to be forgotten. And yet I know that it is inevitable. I will. I must. No matter who it is I touch, no matter how I touch them; I will be forgotten even as I walk the earth among you.
This is no great revelation. From dust to dust, as they say. From dust were our mortal shells created, and to dust shall they return to give birth to new lives, new forms, new faces to forget. For in the end, this is the only thing most of us can really know each other by. In this realm of dimension and sound, taste and touch, we are limited in our understanding of others by the very corporal manifestations that bind us to it. Indeed, there are scant few, if not none, that can say in all truth that "I know this person." To know is to understand, and if we are trapped within ourselves, how can we ever really know anyone? How can we not forget?
This is the part where you probably expect me to sell you a cure, some sort of rainbow in a jar that you can un-bottle to wash away the unhappiness I may have just caused you. It is not. There is no magic pill, no secret words that will stop you from forgetting the people you've interacted with on your twisted path to oblivion. You will forget even the ones you hold dearest to your heart. Oh, there will be times when you will be reminded of those you left behind. You will encounter keys in this world that unlock the most personal chests of recollection. Nothing lasts forever, not even the absence of memory.
But ask yourself; could you bear the weight of recollection? Could you stand to have the very souls of the dead scraping at the inside of your skull, forever haunted by their eternal muttering of days long past? Would you risk your very sanity just keep a single summer's day shared with the ones loved and lost? No.
This is why we must forget, as we must also be forgotten. The human spirit frays and tears under the withering weight of all our years of memory. The atrocities done, the good times forever gone from our reach. It is only merciful that we move on. If not for ourselves, but for the lingering skeletons we keep in our closets. No one wants to be forgotten, but no mortal man should be remembered forever.