Forget forever, forest child, as forever is bathed in forgetness. The more you live, the more tucks in dark caverns of the brain and is swallowed by time. Eaten by days that pass, drank by nights that cradles us to sleep. Forget forever, as forever is really a long time.
I never cried after my father, he was always a threat in my life, a dark candle burning over my safety, its light flickering over my happiness. When he died in flurry of blood, just before my eyes, I felt nothing. It was like dark flame of his existence created a black hole in which all my feelings were sucked and pressed by gravitation.
I felt like the same black hole spits me in another dimension, into much kinder world, lacking him, his insults and drunk presence. I felt like my dark wings gain feathers, not less black, but softer.
And I still didn’t feel anything.
But I am scared how short my memory reaches into days when he was alive. My memory, a thing I was always proud of, doesn’t summon his face, his voice and even events which were good, when we both were younger and better and our relation wasn’t stained by vodka.
I remember… nothing.
Aside of a day, when he took my dog and returned without her. My memory had to filter this of all, leaving hazy days of youth in annoying pit of forgetness.
I would like to remember, I would like to choose what I remember. But maybe it’s better that way.
I don’t want to remember some things, that I would be too afraid to recall, if I did. And I know they would be coming back.
And forever is really a long time.