Writers 
I wonder what it means to be forgotten,
To have your name become a distant sound,
To watch the memories once brightly written
Slowly disappear without a trace around.
Perhaps it happens quietly, without warning,
Like footprints disappearing beneath the rain,
Like stars that vanish when the sky turns morning,
Like an old photograph beginning to fade.
There was a time when someone knew my laughter,
The little things that made my spirit bright,
The dreams I carried, the stories that came after,
The fears I kept hidden through the night.
There was a time when my presence mattered,
When someone searched for me within a crowd,
When even my silence could not go unnoticed,
And my name was spoken clearly and loud.
But time has a way of changing every story,
Of carrying people to different shores.
The promises that once felt everlasting
Can become memories behind closed doors.
Forgotten
Such a lonely word to carry,
A word that feels heavier than the night.
It makes the heart question if it mattered,
If anyone remembers the battles it had to fight.
Did anyone notice when I was breaking?
Did anyone hear the words I never said?
Did anyone remember all the dreams
That once kept sleeping thoughts awake in my head?
Maybe being forgotten is not the ending.
Maybe memories are not meant to stay.
Perhaps we are all passing through each other,
Leaving little pieces of ourselves along the way.
A smile can remain in someone else's memory.
A kindness can outlive the hand that gave.
A single word spoken during someone's darkness
Can become a light they carry to the grave.
So perhaps I will not fear being forgotten,
For I know that nothing truly disappears.
The love I gave, the lives I touched,
May continue quietly through the years.
Even if my name is lost from conversations,
Even if my face fades from someone's mind,
The moments that I shared with those around me
May leave something beautiful behind.
I may be forgotten by the world someday,
As every human story eventually must,
But I will have lived, I will have loved,
And turned my fleeting moments into trust.
For life was never promised to be endless,
And memories were never meant to remain.
We are like rivers moving toward the ocean,
Leaving traces through the valleys we have crossed.
So if one day nobody remembers me,
Let the wind carry softly what I gave.
Let every kindness become my quiet legacy,
And every loving heart become the place I stay.
I will not measure my existence
By how long my name survives.
I will measure it by the hearts I helped,
And the moments when I made someone feel alive.
And if someday I become forgotten,
If my story disappears beneath the years,
I hope I left behind enough of my light
To make someone's darkness less severe.
Perhaps that is all we truly leave behind
Not statues, not names carved into stone,
But fragments of ourselves in other people,
So no soul we touched is ever completely alone.
Forgotten does not mean meaningless.
Silence does not mean we never were.
Even the smallest life can leave an echo,
Even a fading flame can once have warmed the world.
So let the years come and take their memories.
Let time erase what it must erase.
I will still be grateful that I existed,
That for a little while, I had my place.
And when the final page is finally written,
When my footsteps disappear from view,
Perhaps somewhere, in someone's quiet memory,
A small piece of me will still shine through.
