ForgetfulnessPosted: April 6, 2016
The worst part is that life goes on.
The minutes, then hours, then days that you don’t think about it until you’re out in public and it slaps you in the face that none of these dozens or hundreds of people passing you by have any idea of what you’re going through right this minute when it’s suddenly too much and it hurts to breathe and your heart beats black spots into your vision.
Or maybe they do know. Maybe they’re struggling too, trying to come to terms with losing the very same person. But neither of you know that, and it wouldn’t change anything if you did.
But mostly, it’s just another day to them.
How can it be? How can it be just another day? The world is not the same; the ripples of change must surely be felt by all.
And then you kick yourself because it was gone again, for a minute, for an hour. Life went on while you weren’t looking. As it has been for those same dozens or hundreds of people walking by you.
Life, going on.
The anger comes. The waves of rage crashing down that this happened and not that. That this one is gone and not that one. That nothing is fair and life goes on and you forget, and it doesn’t matter whether it’s for a second or a minute or an hour because you’re letting someone down.
But you forget that too, for a minute, for an hour. Forget and forget and forget, all day and all night but it doesn’t matter because nothing is real anymore but it still happens.
Life goes on. Out of nowhere, life goes on.
And it’s bullshit, but that’s the way it is.
Coming and going. Forgetting and remembering and forgetting.