it happens, baby.
you forget all of it anyway. first, you forget everything you learned - the dates of
the hay-herran treaty and the pythagorean theorem. you [ especially ] forget
everything you didn't really learn, but just memorized the night before. you forget
the names of all but one or two of your teachers, and eventually you'll forget
those, too. you forget your junior year class schedule and where you used to sit
and your best friend's home phone number and the [ lyrics ] to that song you
must have played a million times. and eventually, but slowly, oh so slowly, you
forget your humiliations - even the ones that seemed indelible just fade away.
you forget who was cool and who was not, who was [ pretty ], smart, athletic,
and not. who went to a good college. who threw the best parties. who could get
you pot. you forget all of them. even the ones you said you loved, and even the
ones you [ actually ] did. they're the last to go. and then once you've forgotten enough,
you love someone else.
* memoirs of a teenage amnesiac.