Easy, a poem

Easy

Forgetting is too easy. All the faces
I painted, all the women I loved, have blurred.
Yes, even yours. Do you still have that portrait?
Perhaps I could remember should I see
it hanging on your wall. Or even tucked
into some closet. For a little while
I might remember then. You know I shall
forget again, though, don’t you? Nothing lasts
and soon I find forgetting is too easy.

Stephen Brooke ©2026

this started out as a bit about my aphantasia but grew into something rather different