Forgetfulness Is Always Conditional

When feelings pierce our experiences with raw intensity, those fragments of lived reality become dense and adhesive within the mind. That is precisely why they return to us with greater force. They are beautiful, nourishing us when they are reciprocal and painless. But when they are not, we find ourselves trapped in the nightmare of something we desperately wish to push away—and the further we push it, the more violently it recoils, much like the host effect of Venom on a physical body.

These memory fragments are inherently resistant to being forgotten. For this reason, I believe that true forgetfulness does not exist in these specific cases; there is only a memory that falls outside of time, yet retains full autonomy to strike us out of nowhere at any given moment. Against this reality, forgetfulness is merely a weak and ephemeral excuse.

Consequently, we must carry these sudden bursts that time returns to us, appearing fleetingly as memories to remind us that something remains alive—to bridge us back to those threads of the past. Others might argue that this is a matter of energy; that these memories are not entirely our own, even if they feel like it. They suggest that memories do not belong to us, but to the universe—that they are shared. And when those fragments are stirred by someone else, driven by the intensity of their thoughts, that is when they unexpectedly reach us, manifesting in the most natural elements: from a soft breeze brushing past our skin to the glance of a stranger.

So, what does forgetting actually depend on? Under this lens, it depends on our need to shelter ourselves—on knowing that those memories will always be there and that we shouldn't attempt to erase them, but simply let them pass without feeding them our emotional energy. That way, when they inevitably flash by, we might hardly even notice.