The Forgotten

There’s something strange and disturbing about the sorrow growing in my heart.

What’s strange is that the sorrow is delightful. I don’t know. Oddly, I don’t mind it.

Perhaps it’s because I know the reason behind it. I looked at my phone, no messages. Of course. Who needs me anyway?

That’s the problem with people nowadays; you could spend days waiting for that message, but you end up facing the biggest disappointment ever.

That’s the thing about us humans. We expect too much from people. We become delusional. We expect them to talk to us first, to remember us, to remember the tiniest of details, to call us just to say they miss us, to surprise us with trips to the Caribbean, to love us without betrayal, to always be honest with us. The even funnier part of the story is that we always create the drama because people forget us, or because we think people don’t care.

My problem, however, is that I expect too much, I care too much, and I love too much.

-Definitions-

Love: an intense feeling of deep affection.
Care: the provision of what is necessary for the protection of someone or something.

Love and Care. The two most beautiful things in the world, yet the two most awful pains. I remember how much I cared, how much I loved, how happy I was by the compassion I displayed, as well as remember every thorn that was planted in my heart in return.

“I’m done with this crap,” I said to myself, about a billion times. I fall in the trap every time.

The worst thing is finding out people ignore us on purpose, or forget to send a message saying they couldn’t talk at the moment.

Admit it. People like you and me are born to be the forgotten. The ones who aren’t invited to concerts, or to parties, or to gatherings or whatever. The ones whose phones are believed to be dysfunctional because their sound is never heard. The ones who cry themselves to sleep because they think it’s their fault for caring.

Remember what I said? That sorrow was delightful? Well, it’s because I got used to it.

Remember your very first cigarette? How awful it tasted? Do you hate it now? That’s what I thought. You got used to its taste, so you find pleasure in it. My sadness is the same thing. Was atrocious at first, but now that it’s been growing on me like a vine, it’s part of me from now on. I find it delightful.

 

image

“I checked my phone: I had no messages. That’s what cell-phones are used for; realizing no one thinks about you. Before, we could always dream that someone wanted to find a way to contact us, to talk to us, to love us. Today we live with that object that materializes our solitude.” – David Foenkinos.

Advertisements

2 thoughts on “The Forgotten

    1. you know, I’m terribly sorry you had to go through what I’ve written above, and I know how awful it feels like to be forgotten at some points. but all I can say to you right now is keep holding on and keep walking. you will put an end to your sadness, I promise.

      Liked by 1 person

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s