Lost in Time

You’re not going to forget, are you?

Forget what?

You and me.

This isn’t going to just disappear.

This afternoon … And all the other afternoons … I hate the idea that this could be forgotten.

I’ll remember.

Write it down in your notebook. Write something about me. Actually, I should write something in your notebooks – your sacred notebooks. Let me jot something down. Draw some picture. Leave my O.M. mark.

 

I don’t want to be lost in time or to time or whatever. I want someone to remember – this – even if I don’t. Will I remember this moment, philosopher? Or this one? It all fades away doesn’t it? Soon there’ll be no one to remember anything.

 

And it won’t even matter that you write it down. Because no one will read it. Everyone will have forgotten how to read.

 

Must be sad for you that no one reads anymore. All this is a dying art.

And these books. What’s going to happen to them? Landfill, probably – which is sad. You can’t pass your books to anyone now. No one will want them. No one will know what to do with them.