only when I remember not to forget

There was something that I wanted to say, but now I can't remember what it was.

I'm pretty sure that I wanted to clarify what I meant about, well, about what he wrote about or how I felt about what he wrote. Still, it could have been what he didn't write because he started to forget. And now I don't because I can't remember what it was.

Days blur by one into the next on the surface, appearing unchanged, yet time continues to erode my memories of him; at the same time, I'm not living up to whom I think I should be. Who should I become? After half a century, I still get anxious about how it will be perceived. If it doesn't fit expectations, what value can it possibly have? Part of me believes that's not true.

I'm used to not sharing that part out loud.

Every so often I feel like I don't believe in anything and that makes me sad, but only when I remember not to forget.

💭🖤