Goodbyes are endings, but memories stay. Feelings last.
The art of forgetting you
The pain, the torment
The lust, the love
All of you…
That is an art form I have not mastered yet.
I deserve to be loved, appreciated, or at least be appreciated as much as I appreciate the other person. Loving is not one-sided. You made me feel as if I wasn’t capable of receiving that.
Forgetting is so long, simply because we remember first what we want to forget.
Because the truth is ‘busy’ will only numb the pain, it won’t heal it. It will only conceal the scars but the wounds are still there.
You have to come to terms with the fact that you let them leave with so many pieces of you. You have to forgive yourself for loving yourself thin, for forgetting about the things you wanted to do because you were so busy trying to save someone who didn’t want to be saved.
I don’t know if we ever really get over people, I think maybe we just forget what it was like to love them.
Dementia, in a weird and somehow paralleled way, is a huge metaphor for life. The cryptic lessons that dementia taught you bring you back to the most basic building blocks of humanity. Life is messy and hard and nonsensical, but love is the only thing that makes sense of it all.
I am afraid to forget our love. I am afraid to forget the pace of our love, your hands that slowly would caress my hair and the quick glances that we used to exchange only after a few hours after not seeing each other.