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To be Forgotten
Yes, I have tasted disappointment
In tears, transparent to you but
Still stinging, once dry after
Rolling on the surface of my tongue.
And I wish I could say I have not heard it,
But the pluck of the violin string
And the unheard songs replaying in my ears
Whispering again, again, again when you were gone.
Touching disappointment is another sensation altogether;
Fingers tapping against taxi leather in the absence of the family car,
Feet always pounding against pavement
I have smelled loneliness
In boxed dinners and in air not filled with
The scent of a mother’s cooking,
And the smoke, always seeping through the windows and doors.
I cannot name the number of times I have seen disappointment.
It comes suddenly, when plans must change
And we must adapt.
It ebbs in slowly with cries and forgotten children.
But we must not make ourselves forgotten,
Even if those we love think us burdens.
We try to forget them as we age,
But, like disappointment and loneliness,
We remember, hoping they will one day do the same and change