Forgetfulness brings with it its own blessing and curse.
It's impartial and just, because as much as it takes away the things you don't want to remember, it takes with it all the good memories too.

I see pictures of time gone and wonder what the names of the people in it were.
I feel good about a memory without remembering what made me feel that way.
I see familiar names popping up here and there, having no idea who they are.
I rewatch my favorite shows and movies over and over again, each time as if I'm watching them for the first time.
I can hardly recognize faces so I often get the pleasure of meeting someone for the first time, repeatedly.
And painfully enough, I forgive the ones who had done me wrong because I forget what they did to me.

Maybe it's the mind's way of protecting itself, keeping insanity in check. At times, I have been on the brink of tears trying to remember something. At others, I've forgotten to shed tears because I remember no more.
And for more than once I've found myself clinging on to certain moments, praying that I get to keep them. If not, the closest I can get to keep them is by taking pictures and calling them my tangible memories...but still fading.

Being forgetful is the perfect paradox. It can kill and give new life simultaneously. And when this forgetfulness is mixed with apathy, it takes a dangerous turn; accelerating the journey to the oblivion.

To quote Nietzsche "Blessed are the forgetful, for they get the better even of their blunders.”
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@fernweh

© Chintha