The Ones I Forgot

I was in school once.
I remember the rooms.

I remember the smell of dust on the stairs after it rained.
But I don't remember a single person now. Not their faces, not their voices.

Maybe we moved away. Maybe we chose different paths. Or maybe we just stopped needing each other.

It's been over almost two decades.
Should I feel guilty for not holding on?

No one teaches you how to mourn the quiet goodbyes— the ones that don’t break, just fade. The ones that happen slowly when life grows heavy with responsibilities, timelines, and dreams of your own.

It's not that I didn't care. It's that I cared so much about becoming someone, I didn't leave room to carry everyone with me.

And I wonder: Is this what growing up really is? Letting go of people not because they hurt you, but because your lives no longer rhyme?

Who do you not think about anymore — but quietly carry in the shape of who you became?