Forgotten

Sometimes, when people are taken from us, we forget. We let go of those once-blissful now painful memories in order to create a life for ourselves. Life goes on, they say, and we understand and comply. We make do with what we have left and try our best to mend the pieces hoping that the glued china will be close enough to the original to allow us to proceed.

And we feel numb. And nothing much makes sense. Time soars by uncontrolled, or rather unannounced. Where before we noticed each day now the fog bends everything into itself as well as into everything else. And since everything becomes everything else, it's all the same thing. It's all the same and it doesn't matter much, because the pain shadows everything. The pain might actually be the fog that bends the world. I don't know.

How long to remember the dead? How long to hold on to the pain, the memories, and all that won't go away on its own? Because sometimes, we can't forget.