I am a lost sock looking for its pair.
Lost amid the clutter of everyday life.
I seek to be whole,
knowing that there is
another looking for me as well.
A perfect fit.
A similar soul.
I rush to complete myself.
i dont ever want to be forgotten. the idea of someone forgetting me is semi scary. i feel as though being forgotten means no impact was made. what does that say about one self?
The garden was overgrown, musty, forgotten. Vines crept along every surface they could find, the grass was waist height, and whatever evidence of flowers there may have been was lost beneath a plethora of weeds. A lonely garden gnome lay on the soft ground, half constricted by a rogue creeper vine.
They always said being forgotten was what they were afraid of. They didn’t want to die, only to fade away slowly. But in all honesty, being forgotten wasn’t all that bad. It made me feel better, to know I could start again It let me know that I could finally be someone else, and they wouldn’t try to judge who I was trying to be for who I used to be.
‘Forgotten’ is the emotion all of us experience every once in a while in this life.. but there is always that one time that this feeling is more intense then it has ever been… those are the times that change you forever or when u discover something about yourself that u never knew..
i have forgotten how to be creative and how it feels to be newly in love. i sometimes think i have been forgotten by the world. i hate feeling that way and i dont know how to change it. i wish i could feel like i did when i was a teenager. it was so much easier to survive.
i feel like a lot of the time i spend every second of my day thinking about you, but you spend your entire day trying to forget about me. i could be delusional but what does it matter what i think.. all that matters is what the truth is. unfortunately, i can not figure out the truth without talking to you, and that is something i want you to forget.
“All is not lost, all is not forgotten.” The minister’s voice droned on and on. He wasn’t lost? He wasn’t going to be in her life any more. This certainly appeared to be a loss!
Jane thought she had a suberbo memory , but no , she had forgotten a lot and it was painful when her memory was jogged.he had retained memories about victories not defeats and failings and when she won a major prize for her peotry collection , people who had known her through the years surfaced . it was as if she was wandering by a lonely lakeside and slowly heads and bodies emerged from the water, drifted up near water lilies and they all had things to say about a girl Jane didn’t recognise at all and that was her . Each person had things to say about her , she shouted out no , no no , I idn’t do that , that definitely wasn’t me . then a chorus went up from the lake people ‘ it was you , yes yes yes Jane it was , how could you forget ? how how how . Around by the lake there were Aubresia bushes – yellow and green clumps llike the yellow and green payment slips from the sub jobs she did when things were good.
Forgotten. I’m gone to him, to them, to everyone. It’s so easy to be left, so easy to be swept out of other’s memories. I can’t ever forget, no matter what. But they can. They do. They will. It’s inevitable;
I have forgotten many things. I’ve forgotten old friends, past lovers, and mistakes. But most importantly, I haven’t forgotten how they shaped me into who I am today. I remember: me.
I don’t think you will ever be forgotten. You’re the first of so many things. The first one after him. The first one after that other him. The first one that was so sweet. We honestly feel so intertwined that you can’t be forgotten. When you appear in my dreams I remember them even from within dryspells. We have the same thoughts and ideas. We are melded, and could be used to win a game of gin.
It wasn’t that it had been forgotten and it certainly was not that it never happened. Some things, some moments, some breaths just fall between the cracks. They slip from your hands, and it as if they very well may have never happened.
A slip of paper swam in the wind. He, following it’s indecisive swaying with his eyes, reached for it. As he clutched the wayward paper in his hand, he twitched with anticipation at what he might soon know. A lover’s sweet words. A child’s spelling list. A thinker’s meanderings into his own mind. A puzzle, a clue, a path. A ragged edge marked the boundary of what he would soon know.
A list of things forgotten.
i dont want to forget, i want to remember. if i forget i wont know who i am as a person i hope that in my life time no one will have ever forgoten about me or the type of person that i want to be. or do i really need to learn to forget.
i have forgotten how to live freely. i have forgotten who i am. i fear i will continur to forget and lose mself completely and once i realize im no longer myself it will be too late. i will not be forgotten.
If I thought time had a different way of moving I would never be so worried about being forgotten. But the truth is it runs and it blurs by and it never lets you remember the moments you think, I must remember this. So how can I believe you will always remember me, us, this moment.
The word makes me feel pain. I have forgotten the one man who wanted to be my friend even if I was too thick to see that we were meant to be more. It makes me feel shame. And it makes me want to tell the truth, instead of spinning a facetious little yarn like I normally do here.
And I thought I had forgotten my sense of shame… It was lying just underneath the surface, right next to my memories of him.
Forgotten. Does that word even exist? I don’t think so. It’s a feeling we create due to our insecurities, but that’s the thing, WE create it.
No one’s ever forgotten.
not forgotten. You have not been forgotten. I don’t want to know you anymore, but I will never forget you. You were such a major part of my life that I refuse to for get everything that we’ve been through and how much I loved you. A part of me still loves you and it always will.
I think of little kids leaving something – a toy perhaps – behind in a store, or maybe being left there by their parents themselves. I think of old memories that you swore you’d always remember and can barely recall now.
Forgotten
I feel forgotten.
I’ll be forgotten. Shame.
It seems as if this life is to hard to be forgotten.
Forgotten spelled backwards is me…
I’ll endeavor to be remembered, yet
In the end i know what will occur
Forgotten
forgotten. funny how anything really can be forgotten. a favorite toy when you were younger, a best friend from last year. the old cliche out of sight out of mind comes racing off the tongue and you have to ask yourself – why? how life can be so easily lived and passed by and then forgotten. how the lessons we learn come and go and leave us behind like a ripple from a tidal wave and all we can do is watch and wave goodbye and never bother to remember. never bother to ask how it came to be this way. never bother to wonder what all we have forgotten.
we dont want to be forgotten.
how can we change the way people look at us?
how can we leave a memory so that we wont be forgotten??
i dont want to be forgotten.
do you?
The mistakes I have made in my past are over but not forgotten. Memories fade but never go away. There are many things I have done that I wish I could forget but they will remain etched in my mind and my soul until the day that I die. Never forgotten.
She had hoped to never be forgotten. Her mind screamed it as she was taken down like an animal and cut with their unforgiving blades. And as they threw her away into the dirt her bones still screamed the same message. Yearning to be heard by anyone who would listen to the silent screams of a dead girl long forgotten.
i am.
you are.
we all are.
what if we are?
when will we be?
i dont want to be?
how can i avoid being?
what will happen if i am not?
will i leave an impression on the world?
i want to leave an impression upon the world.
what if i don’t?
will i?
i want to.
It was a peculiar sight, indicative of a very unorthodox struggle. The entire room had been thoroughly cleaned with bleach and water, but under the black-light a stark and violent scene unfolded. There was lots of blood on the ceiling but none on the walls or floors. There was blood on three different chairs but none on the table. It would have been quite baffling for the detectives had not the killer left one important clue in his hurried cleansing of the room; a small lighter with one clear and usable print.
The white lines scared her skin, shining bright warning signs at anyone who saw them. The lines long forgotten by her friends and parents. The lines still etched her skin and every time she traced her finger over them the razor dug deeper until the white bone shined through the gaping flesh. Blood dripping onto the white tile. She traced the blood with her finger tips. The crimson painting a beautifully painful scene.
I don’t want to be forgotten. It is my biggest fear at times. I don’t want to fear it. It tends to burden my life even though it’s so silly and trivial. I think I need to be needed. I hate that I need that. I need more depth in my life. I need to figure out who I am. When I know who I am I will know I won’t be forgotten. I am worth it.
I am a lost sock looking for its pair.
Lost amid the clutter of everyday life.
I seek to be whole,
knowing that there is
another looking for me as well.
A perfect fit.
A similar soul.
I rush to complete myself.
i dont ever want to be forgotten. the idea of someone forgetting me is semi scary. i feel as though being forgotten means no impact was made. what does that say about one self?
forgotten the past, moving on to the future but holding onto memories
forgotten people, memories, details, to do lists
forgotten songs, words, photographs
never alone, never forgotten
The garden was overgrown, musty, forgotten. Vines crept along every surface they could find, the grass was waist height, and whatever evidence of flowers there may have been was lost beneath a plethora of weeds. A lonely garden gnome lay on the soft ground, half constricted by a rogue creeper vine.
promises, emails, values, anger, revelations
You.
Old shirts with distinctive smells.
A whale’s tooth
That hung around my neck
For the very longest time
For much longer than it should.
Good things. Bad things. Mostly bad things.
Moving on.
New beginnings. Letting go… of old pictures.
Old emails.
You… Not really.
olvidado, perdido, desconsolado, eso es olvidado no se puede hacer absolutamente cuando pasa, de eso se trata todo de olvidar…
They always said being forgotten was what they were afraid of. They didn’t want to die, only to fade away slowly. But in all honesty, being forgotten wasn’t all that bad. It made me feel better, to know I could start again It let me know that I could finally be someone else, and they wouldn’t try to judge who I was trying to be for who I used to be.
‘Forgotten’ is the emotion all of us experience every once in a while in this life.. but there is always that one time that this feeling is more intense then it has ever been… those are the times that change you forever or when u discover something about yourself that u never knew..
i have forgotten how to be creative and how it feels to be newly in love. i sometimes think i have been forgotten by the world. i hate feeling that way and i dont know how to change it. i wish i could feel like i did when i was a teenager. it was so much easier to survive.
i feel like a lot of the time i spend every second of my day thinking about you, but you spend your entire day trying to forget about me. i could be delusional but what does it matter what i think.. all that matters is what the truth is. unfortunately, i can not figure out the truth without talking to you, and that is something i want you to forget.
“All is not lost, all is not forgotten.” The minister’s voice droned on and on. He wasn’t lost? He wasn’t going to be in her life any more. This certainly appeared to be a loss!
forgive. forget. friendship. israel. remember. memories. leave. stay. remain. dissapear. together. apart. yearcourse. 2010-2011. sad. cry. never forget. enter. close. for. got.
Jane thought she had a suberbo memory , but no , she had forgotten a lot and it was painful when her memory was jogged.he had retained memories about victories not defeats and failings and when she won a major prize for her peotry collection , people who had known her through the years surfaced . it was as if she was wandering by a lonely lakeside and slowly heads and bodies emerged from the water, drifted up near water lilies and they all had things to say about a girl Jane didn’t recognise at all and that was her . Each person had things to say about her , she shouted out no , no no , I idn’t do that , that definitely wasn’t me . then a chorus went up from the lake people ‘ it was you , yes yes yes Jane it was , how could you forget ? how how how . Around by the lake there were Aubresia bushes – yellow and green clumps llike the yellow and green payment slips from the sub jobs she did when things were good.
Forgotten. I’m gone to him, to them, to everyone. It’s so easy to be left, so easy to be swept out of other’s memories. I can’t ever forget, no matter what. But they can. They do. They will. It’s inevitable;
I have forgotten many things. I’ve forgotten old friends, past lovers, and mistakes. But most importantly, I haven’t forgotten how they shaped me into who I am today. I remember: me.
I don’t think you will ever be forgotten. You’re the first of so many things. The first one after him. The first one after that other him. The first one that was so sweet. We honestly feel so intertwined that you can’t be forgotten. When you appear in my dreams I remember them even from within dryspells. We have the same thoughts and ideas. We are melded, and could be used to win a game of gin.
It wasn’t that it had been forgotten and it certainly was not that it never happened. Some things, some moments, some breaths just fall between the cracks. They slip from your hands, and it as if they very well may have never happened.
A slip of paper swam in the wind. He, following it’s indecisive swaying with his eyes, reached for it. As he clutched the wayward paper in his hand, he twitched with anticipation at what he might soon know. A lover’s sweet words. A child’s spelling list. A thinker’s meanderings into his own mind. A puzzle, a clue, a path. A ragged edge marked the boundary of what he would soon know.
A list of things forgotten.
i dont want to forget, i want to remember. if i forget i wont know who i am as a person i hope that in my life time no one will have ever forgoten about me or the type of person that i want to be. or do i really need to learn to forget.
i have forgotten how to live freely. i have forgotten who i am. i fear i will continur to forget and lose mself completely and once i realize im no longer myself it will be too late. i will not be forgotten.
How I feel when u left me the night the flowers bloomed brighttred and the moonlight stung through my heart like a soft crisp breeze.
If I thought time had a different way of moving I would never be so worried about being forgotten. But the truth is it runs and it blurs by and it never lets you remember the moments you think, I must remember this. So how can I believe you will always remember me, us, this moment.
The word makes me feel pain. I have forgotten the one man who wanted to be my friend even if I was too thick to see that we were meant to be more. It makes me feel shame. And it makes me want to tell the truth, instead of spinning a facetious little yarn like I normally do here.
And I thought I had forgotten my sense of shame… It was lying just underneath the surface, right next to my memories of him.
Forgotten. Does that word even exist? I don’t think so. It’s a feeling we create due to our insecurities, but that’s the thing, WE create it.
No one’s ever forgotten.
not forgotten. You have not been forgotten. I don’t want to know you anymore, but I will never forget you. You were such a major part of my life that I refuse to for get everything that we’ve been through and how much I loved you. A part of me still loves you and it always will.
I think of little kids leaving something – a toy perhaps – behind in a store, or maybe being left there by their parents themselves. I think of old memories that you swore you’d always remember and can barely recall now.
um..lost but not forgotten,
Forgotten
I feel forgotten.
I’ll be forgotten. Shame.
It seems as if this life is to hard to be forgotten.
Forgotten spelled backwards is me…
I’ll endeavor to be remembered, yet
In the end i know what will occur
Forgotten
lost
scared lonely confused sad heartbroken
forgotten. funny how anything really can be forgotten. a favorite toy when you were younger, a best friend from last year. the old cliche out of sight out of mind comes racing off the tongue and you have to ask yourself – why? how life can be so easily lived and passed by and then forgotten. how the lessons we learn come and go and leave us behind like a ripple from a tidal wave and all we can do is watch and wave goodbye and never bother to remember. never bother to ask how it came to be this way. never bother to wonder what all we have forgotten.
we dont want to be forgotten.
how can we change the way people look at us?
how can we leave a memory so that we wont be forgotten??
i dont want to be forgotten.
do you?
The mistakes I have made in my past are over but not forgotten. Memories fade but never go away. There are many things I have done that I wish I could forget but they will remain etched in my mind and my soul until the day that I die. Never forgotten.
She had hoped to never be forgotten. Her mind screamed it as she was taken down like an animal and cut with their unforgiving blades. And as they threw her away into the dirt her bones still screamed the same message. Yearning to be heard by anyone who would listen to the silent screams of a dead girl long forgotten.
i am.
you are.
we all are.
what if we are?
when will we be?
i dont want to be?
how can i avoid being?
what will happen if i am not?
will i leave an impression on the world?
i want to leave an impression upon the world.
what if i don’t?
will i?
i want to.
It was a peculiar sight, indicative of a very unorthodox struggle. The entire room had been thoroughly cleaned with bleach and water, but under the black-light a stark and violent scene unfolded. There was lots of blood on the ceiling but none on the walls or floors. There was blood on three different chairs but none on the table. It would have been quite baffling for the detectives had not the killer left one important clue in his hurried cleansing of the room; a small lighter with one clear and usable print.
The white lines scared her skin, shining bright warning signs at anyone who saw them. The lines long forgotten by her friends and parents. The lines still etched her skin and every time she traced her finger over them the razor dug deeper until the white bone shined through the gaping flesh. Blood dripping onto the white tile. She traced the blood with her finger tips. The crimson painting a beautifully painful scene.
I don’t want to be forgotten. It is my biggest fear at times. I don’t want to fear it. It tends to burden my life even though it’s so silly and trivial. I think I need to be needed. I hate that I need that. I need more depth in my life. I need to figure out who I am. When I know who I am I will know I won’t be forgotten. I am worth it.
I am not forgotten. God loves me. He loves all of his children. No one is forgotten.
remember that time? i do. remember that good morning good night i’ll see you tonight you’re beautiful? i wish you did.