SuperRare

Forgetting is the soul of language, and it’s this very forgetting that allows for repetition, for lumping things together and calling them the same when they’re totally not. Every time we mindlessly say a name, all its past meanings fade away to make room for a new meaning. We casually call the next loves by the same names we used for the first ones, and with every repeat, it’s our past that fades a little more. We say "I love you" to a new lover just like we did with the first; only this time, deep down, we hope it means something different. And that little difference, that sneaky promise of repetition, is all thanks to forgetting — like burying new dead in an old cemetery with a backhoe clearing out the unclaimed graves to make way for the new. We lose the essence of "loving" while we keep rehashing the name of the "beloved," buried under heaps of allusions and meanings.