“The Weight of Forgetting”
I want to tell you I remember,
That I hold your words close,
That the things you love, the things you say,
Are carved into me like stone.
But my mind is a foggy mirror,
And the etchings fade too soon.
It isn’t that I don’t listen—
I do, with everything I have.
But some days, your laughter slips through my fingers,
Like smoke I can’t hold on to.
I hear your stories, your dreams, your favorites,
And I swear I carry them in my heart.
But then the fog rolls in.
Thick. Heavy. Smothering.
It steals the threads I tried to weave,
Unraveling moments I thought were mine to keep.
Was it joy or sadness you found in its melody?
And I see the way your face changes,
The flicker of hurt you try to hide,
When I ask for the third time,
“What did you say again?”
I hate myself in those moments,
Not because of the forgetting,
But because I see what it costs you.
I know you think I don’t care,
That I’m too lost in my own world to see yours.
But the truth is, I care so much it hurts.
And that makes the forgetting even heavier.
I want you to know it’s not you—
It’s this fog that traps me.
It wraps itself around my thoughts,
Pulling me into a space where even my own memories
I feel like a thief of our moments,
A ghost of someone you trust,
Afraid that each lapse in memory is another crack
In the fragile bond we’ve built.
To hold on to what matters most.
I write things down, I ask again,
Even when I’m too ashamed to admit I forgot.
And even when my mind betrays me,
My heart remembers every piece of you.
So if I ask you to remind me,
Please know it’s not because I don’t care—
It’s because I care too much to let you slip away.