What would it be like to be forgotten?
And I think of the things you left, the room you abandoned, the books you read, the possessions you value, the debris of your disappearance, the weigh of its significance if they hold no memory of you.
What would it be like to have no name?
To be told as a story of some man who lived an unextraordinary life not worth having a character name to tell children of the next century and be recognized only as a single dot once existed in the big old world.
What would it be like to be just a ghost in the history?
Accepting the fact that once you were born, once you were a child, sweet and innocent, then became a person who carries a name, a religion, a belief, a dignity and every sense of humanity. That you were once a significant part of the world, that once you existed, but not anymore.
What would it be like to finally face the inevitable?
To see things, but they don’t stare back at you.
To know things but they don’t claim the same to you.
To face the dead end and realize how little you did for the world that gave birth and nurture you, how much you’ve taken for granted everything it generously offered you, to leave nothing to the world, to let it forget you easily.