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The worst part about love is not remembering, but forgetting.
It is realizing that everything we thought was so wonderful, powerful, transcendent, and meaningful was as minuscule as everything else in life that we forget. All of the feelings, touches, smells, tastes, and sensations slowly become less and less familiar. Sometimes we even find replacements for them, which only furthers the evidence that those things were not as special as we believed. The worst part about love is realizing that, when it ceases to affect us, it might as well have been just another grocery item we forgot to buy at the store. Or perhaps it's comparable to that loose change that fell out of our pocket when grabbing our cash.
The truth is, we wish love by itself would kill us. We wish that lost love was as epic as it feels when it changes who we are. We wish that all the suffering imparts something on us that is totally permanent, irreversible, and unforgettable. We wish that it was true that there is that one person, we found them, and when they leave we'll never be able to move on. But instead, love wounds us deeply, but not fatally. It forces us to live on, heal, and scar. One by one the scars disappear, and we are forced to come to terms with how trivial each of them really was.
The worst part about love is not remembering, but forgetting.
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That’s sooooo true!
Reply"It kills me not to know this
But I've all but just forgotten
What the color of her eyes were
And her scars or how she got them"
I think about that with my last love.
I don't think scars disappear, but everything certainly does fade and for however painful things were at certain points, you still want to relive and remember the good moments.
Reply