Forgetting was the worst part.
When the smiles all dimmed
And the faces all blurred,
And all I could remember was the sheer
Warmth
That I felt then
And haven't felt since.
Forgetting was guilt.
It was long nights of bruises
On my soul
That I made myself.
It was nights of "How could I forget them?"
And "Did I not love them enough?"
It was fights with myself,
Yet still forgetting anyways.
Forgetting was anger
At myself.
Anger for letting go of the only piece
That I had left.
The piece that I will never
Ever
Get back.
Forgetting was sad nights
With sadder tears;
It was the hollow in my chest becoming more empty,
Never to fill again.
Forgetting was losing them all over again.
It was their true death.
When they truly died.
It was the acceptance
That I wasn't ready to give
Just because
If I still had the memories,
If I hadn't forgot,
Than I hadn't completely lost them.
Forgetting was the worst part
Because it hurt the most.
3/26/16
