Being forgotten isn’t loud—it’s quiet. It’s the absence of a message, the silence in a room, the fading of your name from someone’s thoughts. You don’t always notice it at first. But slowly, you begin to feel it. Like a shadow that used to follow you, now gone.
It’s the ache of watching someone move on while you’re still holding on. The way they stop asking how you are. The way your memories with them feel like they belong to only you now. You wonder if you ever truly mattered—or if you were just a passing moment in their story.
This feeling is heavy. Not because you need constant attention, but because you believed you were seen, valued, remembered. And now, you feel like a page they’ve turned, while you’re still rereading the chapter.
But being forgotten doesn’t mean you’re forgettable. It means they couldn’t carry your depth. It means your presence was real, even if they couldn’t hold it. And while their silence may hurt, your voice still matters. Your story still matters.
Because even if they forget—you remember. And that memory is proof that your love was true.
