Neither of them, it seemed, had forgotten as much as they probably should have, which meant that this conversation was going to be more awkward – more painful – than he had hoped. He shifted uncomfortable in his seat, his stomach knotting. Across the table, he heard Rachel copy the movement.
Is something that no child should ever feel. Some children feel forgotten by their parents or their friends for by society in general but I would argue that this is not fair… That a child should always have a warm loving place to be and never I’ve to feel forgotten. Sometimes people isolate themselves and try and get attention by saying thy feel forgotten but only people who are trully forgotten know what it really feels like. He anguish is horrible and feels as though it will ne’er go away. My grandmother Oren talked about how she felt forgotten and that was because my grandfather didn’t spend enough time with her… She was always alone. Very sad.
“I just want you to forget me, please.” I shivered, only now noticing the cool winds. “Why? Why would you ever want that? And how could you think I’d be able to do that?”
That one moment. How could I forget? It’s been a long time, but it meant so much to me. And yet, here I am, years later, with barely any recollection of it.
Gone, but not forgotten. That’s what they say about other people, sure. But me? Ha. It hardly applies. I’m gone, gone, long gone. But I’ve already been forgotten. I don’t think I was ever remembered in the first place.
Even with the boxes, the tape and the little folders where everything that was, is. Even with the daydreamers dust shinning from the sun into that creaking room. Even with the crumbling, cradled pieces of torn memories, there was nothing of you here.
I feel like there are a lot of forgotten memories that I have. I wish that my memory was incredible, so I would never forget anything. I know there are things that I wouldn’t want in there, but I would also like to have the chance to remember them at all. So many forgotten things are so meaningful.
i found the old poem. it was burried at the very bottom of the chest. danm i wispered. i was so close to forgetting the emmotions it expresses so clearly. danm was all i said and i burried it once more inhopes that it would return to the forgotten void of appathy.
I had forgotten. New tastes, new smells, new gifts that each day brings. Never forget, never… how much fun life can be, but best to leave the sad, sorry things that are holding you back forgotten.
All I know is that this world is gone, this world is no longer mine, yours or ours. Its a place full of wonders, its a place full of that and this and those things we care to forget to mention, because sincerely, its a place long forgotten, like you, like me, like each other..
Amira pushed up her sunglasses as he watched the red headed boy talk to the blonde at the coffee table. Keeton. She missed him, more than anything. But if Keeton ever saw her again, he might remember. And that couldn’t happen. Amira was a danger to him. That’s why she had Skylar erased his memory. Made him forget. Made him want to be with Leah, not with her. She closed her eyes. Because it was for the right reasons, didn’t make it any less painful. If Keeton ever did remember, he would never forgive her.
Here’s the thing about moving across the country. No one ever remembers you. No one knows you and you don’t know them. NO matter how friendly they are, they don’t replace your friends. and while your focussing on this? Your friends back home are going on with life. They don’t think about you because they have other things going on. But you, you think about them until it feels like your head could explode.
Totally blanking on something to write for today. My mind is exhausted, as is my body, so I am going to bed in the hopes that the disappointment I feel about not writing anything fun, entertaining, or clever, by the morning, will be completely forgotten.
i was a forgotten child. Lost alone foraging for food wherever i could find it. My brother was mothers favorite therefore he was remembered.
Is there anything worse than to be forgotten by the woman who bore you?
You know that second when you pass a spot and there used to be something there. A memory lies waiting to be found, but it may never be held again. You stare for a moment and grasp to any remembrance you can find. But it does not exist, this spot is nothing more than a place to stroll by without a second thought. If you slowed down, maybe you would know what it is trying to say. But for today, the memories and the laughs are merely another step to be forgotten.
the past can be forgotten only when you accept the fact that its the past. It is meant to be forgotten, all the pain you endure, all the struggles you made. Those are meant to be forgotten, but only if they did not make you a better person, those mistakes can make you stronger,
love. something you owe me, something you told me, something you lied about. The one thing that hurt me, the one person you dont have sympathy for. ME. i stand here cry each night because of the scars you put in my heart.
all the memories, i know ive lost along the way, and theres really no way to get it back…. so many things i just cant ever put my finger on, and i know i ache for it sometimes…. its all forgotten, maybe its the braincells ive burnt out or maybe its just life slowly edging along but theres so much i know ive forgotten more than i think i even know… it comes back every now and then but is so very fleeping
I feel like so much about the world gets forgotten every day, whether it’s those in Haiti or the pain we felt as we watched the twin towers fall. Or maybe we forget that we’re supposed to trust when it comes to love. That love isn’t love till you give it away. I’ve forgotten where my keys are and why I’m so afraid. I only can remember that I am afraid and that I have much to fear but I’ve forgotten that I have much to love and not be afraid of. Life is beautiful, I forgot that.
When I’m gone, my biggest fear is being forgotten. I already am so often.. and I’m still here. But that’s reality. That’s my reality, at least.. I just have to find something about myself that is worth remembering in the first place.
Much is forgotten in life. I feel as if I cannot even remember what I have eaten for breakfast–all memories lost in time. My life is punctuated by periods of me forgetting, be it things, reminders, appointments, commitments. As the days progress, people are forgotten, relationships are forgotten…everything is lost as we move forward. As we continue on in the pursuit of making memories we hope to cherish at one point, we push what was once important to the exterior of the mind where it ceases to exist.
damn i feel forgotten
its like i was the poster child
born wild hated the miled
couldnt slow down or see the end
and there it is
with me everwhere i am
My mind just doesn’t work like it use to. As a kid, you tend to remember all the good, all the bad; everything. Now as an adult, the good isn’t so good, and the bad happens more often. You become more and more numb to life’s troubles, to the point where you’re not longer storing them inside your still tiny brain anymore.
forgotten means childhood. the dusty days pushed in a corner, memories crammed and crammed in boxes stacked over one another seemingly going on and on and for a while you need to gather yourself before you remember those times.
but too much is gone because you cannot seem to remember what that little red truck was for or where that stuffed bunny came from. in your head there is a room where all these things are locked and you have the key but somehow somehow,
I forget things ALL the time. everything in my life ends up “forgotten” at some point. I think I’ve just accepted it as a apart of who I am..I forget things. I don’t like it because sometimes those things are very important and I’ve gotten better but it’s been hard to deal with. I pray I get better and start to REMEMBER!!
I wish he hadn’t forgotten everything about us. I know that we’ve had some bad times, but I don’t think those outweigh the good. I wish, though, that I could forget some of the good so that I could get over it and try and move on. I’m sick of caring so much. Maybe if I forget, it’ll be easier. I don’t know if I’m willing to forget it all though, we were so much fun at first. I wish it hadn’t all gone away.
The frog has forgotten his home. He swims up and down the shore of the little pond and is totally lost. At night, the stars’ reflection on the surface of the water is like a video game he never learned how to play, because he is a frog.
she had forgotten to buy milk this morning. she was busy going along her chores, cleaning the house, wiping the stove, emptying out the trash, cleaning out the fridge. She had pulled out many rotten food items in the back of the icebox, not knowing what to think of how long they’ve been there, she tossed them all away in one fell swoop.
She glanced at her clean kitchen and wonder what she will do next.
She would never be forgotten; not as long as I lived. Her wavy brown hair and the way her green eyes sparkled under the moonlight. I loved how her skin felt against mine; the feeling of her breath on my neck. Even if I tried, those memories would forever be ingrained in my head. I loved her. I would never forget her.
I have forgotten what thin arms and tanned skin and small boobs feel like, white teeth and painted toes, cheeks and lemoned hair. All I feel is a lump forming in my heart, in my neck, my stomach and the back of my skull. All I felt, my body has forgotten.
“Why I’ve forgotten more things about remembering than you will ever know,” the Great Santoroni he waved his arms emphatically. “Heh, you’re a hack. You always were and you always will be,” replied Marco the Magnificent. “You can’t even remember your own mother’s name,” Marco continued. “What? How dare you,” Santoroni cried. “Of course, I remember my Mother’s name. It was … It was … Margaret? No, Marjorie. No, it was …” “It was Marlene,” Tom, the night orderly, opened the door and settled the usual Wednesday night argument. “Now, you two be quiet and go to bed,” he said. “Some of our other guests here at Abracadabra Retirement Community need their beauty sleep.”
I have forgotten many things. Like where I left my phone when it is actually in my pocket, where I left my glasses when it’s actually on my nose. Forgetting isn’t exactly the best thing to do, but sometimes it is the only thing that actually helps.
When there is heartbreak, the only thing you will want to do is forget. When you are disappointed, you would want to forget that too. It is an escape to me. I create walls that I slowly build around a certain memory, completely blocking it out from my head, and slowly, moss and webs begin to form on the bricks and I stop cleaning it out.
Neither of them, it seemed, had forgotten as much as they probably should have, which meant that this conversation was going to be more awkward – more painful – than he had hoped. He shifted uncomfortable in his seat, his stomach knotting. Across the table, he heard Rachel copy the movement.
Is something that no child should ever feel. Some children feel forgotten by their parents or their friends for by society in general but I would argue that this is not fair… That a child should always have a warm loving place to be and never I’ve to feel forgotten. Sometimes people isolate themselves and try and get attention by saying thy feel forgotten but only people who are trully forgotten know what it really feels like. He anguish is horrible and feels as though it will ne’er go away. My grandmother Oren talked about how she felt forgotten and that was because my grandfather didn’t spend enough time with her… She was always alone. Very sad.
“I just want you to forget me, please.” I shivered, only now noticing the cool winds. “Why? Why would you ever want that? And how could you think I’d be able to do that?”
That one moment. How could I forget? It’s been a long time, but it meant so much to me. And yet, here I am, years later, with barely any recollection of it.
Gone, but not forgotten. That’s what they say about other people, sure. But me? Ha. It hardly applies. I’m gone, gone, long gone. But I’ve already been forgotten. I don’t think I was ever remembered in the first place.
Even with the boxes, the tape and the little folders where everything that was, is. Even with the daydreamers dust shinning from the sun into that creaking room. Even with the crumbling, cradled pieces of torn memories, there was nothing of you here.
I feel like there are a lot of forgotten memories that I have. I wish that my memory was incredible, so I would never forget anything. I know there are things that I wouldn’t want in there, but I would also like to have the chance to remember them at all. So many forgotten things are so meaningful.
i found the old poem. it was burried at the very bottom of the chest. danm i wispered. i was so close to forgetting the emmotions it expresses so clearly. danm was all i said and i burried it once more inhopes that it would return to the forgotten void of appathy.
I had forgotten. New tastes, new smells, new gifts that each day brings. Never forget, never… how much fun life can be, but best to leave the sad, sorry things that are holding you back forgotten.
All I know is that this world is gone, this world is no longer mine, yours or ours. Its a place full of wonders, its a place full of that and this and those things we care to forget to mention, because sincerely, its a place long forgotten, like you, like me, like each other..
Amira pushed up her sunglasses as he watched the red headed boy talk to the blonde at the coffee table. Keeton. She missed him, more than anything. But if Keeton ever saw her again, he might remember. And that couldn’t happen. Amira was a danger to him. That’s why she had Skylar erased his memory. Made him forget. Made him want to be with Leah, not with her. She closed her eyes. Because it was for the right reasons, didn’t make it any less painful. If Keeton ever did remember, he would never forgive her.
Here’s the thing about moving across the country. No one ever remembers you. No one knows you and you don’t know them. NO matter how friendly they are, they don’t replace your friends. and while your focussing on this? Your friends back home are going on with life. They don’t think about you because they have other things going on. But you, you think about them until it feels like your head could explode.
Totally blanking on something to write for today. My mind is exhausted, as is my body, so I am going to bed in the hopes that the disappointment I feel about not writing anything fun, entertaining, or clever, by the morning, will be completely forgotten.
i was a forgotten child. Lost alone foraging for food wherever i could find it. My brother was mothers favorite therefore he was remembered.
Is there anything worse than to be forgotten by the woman who bore you?
You know that second when you pass a spot and there used to be something there. A memory lies waiting to be found, but it may never be held again. You stare for a moment and grasp to any remembrance you can find. But it does not exist, this spot is nothing more than a place to stroll by without a second thought. If you slowed down, maybe you would know what it is trying to say. But for today, the memories and the laughs are merely another step to be forgotten.
stop reminding me. i wanna be remembered but forgotten. its not fair. i dont know what i want. i want happiness. i wanna be marilyn monroe.
It must be to easy;
My impression wasn’t deep enough.
Let go, in the wind.
the past can be forgotten only when you accept the fact that its the past. It is meant to be forgotten, all the pain you endure, all the struggles you made. Those are meant to be forgotten, but only if they did not make you a better person, those mistakes can make you stronger,
alone and abandoned without anyone who cars about you
what happens when you’re not interesting
losing a part of you
losing other people
something sad
love. something you owe me, something you told me, something you lied about. The one thing that hurt me, the one person you dont have sympathy for. ME. i stand here cry each night because of the scars you put in my heart.
Poor memory sometimes is a wonderful thing.
We do need better memory sometime…
all the memories, i know ive lost along the way, and theres really no way to get it back…. so many things i just cant ever put my finger on, and i know i ache for it sometimes…. its all forgotten, maybe its the braincells ive burnt out or maybe its just life slowly edging along but theres so much i know ive forgotten more than i think i even know… it comes back every now and then but is so very fleeping
I feel like so much about the world gets forgotten every day, whether it’s those in Haiti or the pain we felt as we watched the twin towers fall. Or maybe we forget that we’re supposed to trust when it comes to love. That love isn’t love till you give it away. I’ve forgotten where my keys are and why I’m so afraid. I only can remember that I am afraid and that I have much to fear but I’ve forgotten that I have much to love and not be afraid of. Life is beautiful, I forgot that.
When I’m gone, my biggest fear is being forgotten. I already am so often.. and I’m still here. But that’s reality. That’s my reality, at least.. I just have to find something about myself that is worth remembering in the first place.
Much is forgotten in life. I feel as if I cannot even remember what I have eaten for breakfast–all memories lost in time. My life is punctuated by periods of me forgetting, be it things, reminders, appointments, commitments. As the days progress, people are forgotten, relationships are forgotten…everything is lost as we move forward. As we continue on in the pursuit of making memories we hope to cherish at one point, we push what was once important to the exterior of the mind where it ceases to exist.
damn i feel forgotten
its like i was the poster child
born wild hated the miled
couldnt slow down or see the end
and there it is
with me everwhere i am
My mind just doesn’t work like it use to. As a kid, you tend to remember all the good, all the bad; everything. Now as an adult, the good isn’t so good, and the bad happens more often. You become more and more numb to life’s troubles, to the point where you’re not longer storing them inside your still tiny brain anymore.
forgotten means childhood. the dusty days pushed in a corner, memories crammed and crammed in boxes stacked over one another seemingly going on and on and for a while you need to gather yourself before you remember those times.
but too much is gone because you cannot seem to remember what that little red truck was for or where that stuffed bunny came from. in your head there is a room where all these things are locked and you have the key but somehow somehow,
you can’t remember you need to open to door.
I forget things ALL the time. everything in my life ends up “forgotten” at some point. I think I’ve just accepted it as a apart of who I am..I forget things. I don’t like it because sometimes those things are very important and I’ve gotten better but it’s been hard to deal with. I pray I get better and start to REMEMBER!!
I wish he hadn’t forgotten everything about us. I know that we’ve had some bad times, but I don’t think those outweigh the good. I wish, though, that I could forget some of the good so that I could get over it and try and move on. I’m sick of caring so much. Maybe if I forget, it’ll be easier. I don’t know if I’m willing to forget it all though, we were so much fun at first. I wish it hadn’t all gone away.
“he is gone but not forgotten.”
That’s what they’ll write on my grave.
it will be spelled poorly though, and it won’t make a lot of sense, but that’s what it will say.
The frog has forgotten his home. He swims up and down the shore of the little pond and is totally lost. At night, the stars’ reflection on the surface of the water is like a video game he never learned how to play, because he is a frog.
i have forgotten what all that is to be remembered but if i forget what is forgotten then i wont remember what is forgotten to remember. forgotten
she had forgotten to buy milk this morning. she was busy going along her chores, cleaning the house, wiping the stove, emptying out the trash, cleaning out the fridge. She had pulled out many rotten food items in the back of the icebox, not knowing what to think of how long they’ve been there, she tossed them all away in one fell swoop.
She glanced at her clean kitchen and wonder what she will do next.
She would never be forgotten; not as long as I lived. Her wavy brown hair and the way her green eyes sparkled under the moonlight. I loved how her skin felt against mine; the feeling of her breath on my neck. Even if I tried, those memories would forever be ingrained in my head. I loved her. I would never forget her.
I have forgotten what thin arms and tanned skin and small boobs feel like, white teeth and painted toes, cheeks and lemoned hair. All I feel is a lump forming in my heart, in my neck, my stomach and the back of my skull. All I felt, my body has forgotten.
“Why I’ve forgotten more things about remembering than you will ever know,” the Great Santoroni he waved his arms emphatically. “Heh, you’re a hack. You always were and you always will be,” replied Marco the Magnificent. “You can’t even remember your own mother’s name,” Marco continued. “What? How dare you,” Santoroni cried. “Of course, I remember my Mother’s name. It was … It was … Margaret? No, Marjorie. No, it was …” “It was Marlene,” Tom, the night orderly, opened the door and settled the usual Wednesday night argument. “Now, you two be quiet and go to bed,” he said. “Some of our other guests here at Abracadabra Retirement Community need their beauty sleep.”
I have forgotten many things. Like where I left my phone when it is actually in my pocket, where I left my glasses when it’s actually on my nose. Forgetting isn’t exactly the best thing to do, but sometimes it is the only thing that actually helps.
When there is heartbreak, the only thing you will want to do is forget. When you are disappointed, you would want to forget that too. It is an escape to me. I create walls that I slowly build around a certain memory, completely blocking it out from my head, and slowly, moss and webs begin to form on the bricks and I stop cleaning it out.
Forgotten words dissolve into memory where other forgotten people and places reside. Oblivion, dissolution define our forgetting.
i have forgotten my so much stuff in so many places in my life.