If the world ever lost me, I’d doubt it would ever notice the difference. Like the name of a stranger you’d met once in passing, my demise would be as dramatic as an entrance and exit from a crowded bus, always wearing that same indifferent face that mirrors the cosmos’s thoughts of me - empty, nonexistent, and light years in between. Not much different than those who I once held close, deep within myself, like the very air in my lungs; I’ve been exhaled from memory long exhausted of use, as I am destined to be, from their minds. And yet, in the face of my inevitable disintegration, from reality to memory to a forgotten thought to a lost name in time, I try to hold onto these moments as they slip through my fingers; though these times may have forgotten me, I keep them alive within me, never more caring about being forgotten, but simply trying remember I once mattered to various people, at various times.
I meant something, sometime ago.