A Conversation With Her

You want to forget about me, she says.

Yes, I answer.  I do.

You talk to the others.

I know.

I thought you said it wasn’t my fault.

It wasn’t.  Not really.

Then why do you want to forget about me?

Because it’s hard, I tell her.  Very, very hard.

How do you think it feels for me? she returns. 

Worse.

That’s right.  Worse.  You get to be somewhere else, where someone loves you.  You get to see flowers and smell things that are nice.  Everything I ever wanted you have, but you won’t let me share it with you.  I survived.  Why doesn’t that count?

It does.

You think I’m ugly.  That in a way I am as bad as they are, because I make you feel just as bad.  That isn’t fair.

No, it’s not.  I’m sorry.

Thank you.  Now what are you going to do about it?