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Being forgotten when you know someone else was remembered is one thing. Sitting in a crowd hearing about a person being remembered, thinking that person is you, and feeling a tiny respite from the pain you’re hiding in your soul only to learn later that what actually happened in that room was a public announcement that you were completely forgotten is another. Yet another thing is carrying around this knowledge feeling ashamed that what hurts more is not that you weren’t remembered, not that someone fulfilled someone else’s request, a request identical to yours while neglecting yours, but you had to ask in order to find out you were forgotten. And you’ll never tell a soul because who wants to reveal that kind of hurt to anyone other than the ground.
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