Forget-Me-Nots Blowing in the Wind

The lines of Chile's Neftalí Ricardo Reyes Basoalto--Pablo Neruda to lovers young and old--keep ringing in my ears: "Love is so short, forgetting is so long."

When does one know that that thing doomed for a short life is called love? One brilliant lady once whispered to me that love is like physics. It is a function of time and space. Hence, any declaration of affection is a reflection of the present, of the "now", ergo "thus far".

I remember a short kiddie tale, like one of those you keep in your inbox ready for another chance of sharing it with others. The story goes this way:

The Ship of Values was once heavily hit by a storm in the sea. It was sinking and values drifted in the turbulent waters (recall Titanic). Only Love was safely floating on a small boat big enough to accommodate one more. Prosperity begged Love to be rescued from the waters. Love rejected Prosperity saying it is too heavy. Health came swimming by but Love had eyes for another. Love held its arms to Time and lifted it on board. Time wondered why among the many drifters, it was THE lucky one. Love replied: Only time can tell what true love is. Neat story, just neat.

But if only time can certify what true love is, is it fair to label "short" love untrue love? If it is untrue love, why then is forgetting so long? If it was true love, why the need for forgetting?

Is there forgetting? German philosopher Friedrich Nietzsche once wrote, "The existence of forgetting has never been proved: We only know that some things don't come to mind when we want them."

"Live before you forget how to love", someone once cautioned me. Have I forgotten how to live? Or am I living to forget?

(Photo borrowed from this site.)