Aren’t we reaching the end of line?

You’re forgetful.
Much more than an average person.
And I hate that.
I hate how you don’t have a clue what you were going to do in 2 hours. I hate how you confuse all the destinations and activities for the weekend. I hate how you had no idea what time it was where I was. I hate how you forgot my graduation ceremony.
You asked me, was forgetfulness a crime punishable by death, because I made a habit of yelling at you for not remembering the most stupidest of details.
And you’re tired of it.
You feel like I’m looking down on you.
.
I have no way to deal with all the disappointment.
In my fantasy world, you can forget everything, unless it involves me.
In reality, you tend to forget more of what I’d like you to remember.
While you’re asking me, were you nothing to me, I’ve been questioning my “position” in your life.
.
Am I nothing to you?
.
The coward I am wouldn’t raise the question, knowing you have no control over the matter.
Part of me always blame you for not trying harder.
The rest already gave up.
All that’s left is stacking disappointment and awaiting the final blow.
.
For loving a broken doll
Aren’t we reaching the end of line?
.
.
Aren’t I reaching the end of line?