Remember

How will i be remembered, and by who? I've been in love more times than i care to count. Which of them, i wonder, even think of me? I have a selective memory. But i don't get to choose the images. I'm still in love. I never knew there could be so many corridors in the heart to lose a part of myself in. If i could walk through them at a strolling pace, would those images i find there be true to reality now? I loved a girl once. But did i ever love her at all? Maybe i only loved a phase a girl was going through when i knew her. Maybe i never knew her. In which case, there is a long vacant corridor in my heart with an imaginary name etched above its entry. Maybe imaginary, but no less powerful. A name that refers to no one real has no less meaning than one's own name, provided the owner of the named is familiar with the address. Likewise, my imaginary love would mean no less to me had she never existed. For she may not have lived beyond the confines of my own mind and heart. Indeed, she may now and only, exist in that memory of my heart's imagination. If i am to be remembered at all, what might i be in the heart of another's imagination? The lost? The missed? The failed? I think i'd rather stay forgotten. I'd rather be forgotten alltogether, than be remembered wrong. I wish i could offer the same in turn. But i have a selective memory, of which i have no say in remembering.