No one wants to be forgotten,
But one day after our bodies are rotten,
Long after we are dead,
When we breath our last and reach the end,
No one will remember the beauty we so boast of today,
By then our smiles and high cheek bones would have faded away,
Our buildings, schools and bridges will become ruins,
No one will care about our passions or doings,
You may be lucky and land in a history book as a legend,
Or like the rest of us and be completely forgotten and that’s the end!
Because in the end who cares what I said or did a 1000 years from now?
Yet with this knowledge we still strive and labor to be remembered somehow?
Its like we are oblivious to our own oblivion.
Or maybe its this knowledge that keeps us in constant motion?
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sometimes I hate being a woman