People I Once knew

I’ve been wondering lately. There are people I’ve known who have walked out of my life for various reasons. Sometimes it’s because we went separate directions and made new friends and met new people. It’s not that we want to be finished with them, it’s just that our time together reaches an end (think high school graduation for an easy example). But other people… they just finish with me, and I’m not sure why. I’m not sure if I have some fatal character flaw that drives them away, or if they just get too busy. I’m not sure if I’ve done something to offend them (sometimes I know I have, because they get mad at me for something I did—often when I’ve done the right thing), but if I have, I never get the chance to apologize or make amends.

Some people, I walk away from them. I have to. I give a great deal of myself, and they take and take until I have nothing left to give. To save myself, I need to set firmer boundaries, and sometimes they dislike it enough to be finished with me.
But those are just some of the reasons we stop knowing people we once knew. And it isn’t the big question of the night. My big question is this: do they remember me? In some surprising cases, I have learned that they do. But in others, I really wonder. Has my life intersected with another’s in a meaningful way for no reason at all?
I wonder often… if I were to die tomorrow, would anyone really notice? Would anyone really care? Would anyone remember me? And what can I do to improve myself enough that they would remember? Is it even possible?

There are many people I once knew who I’ve forgotten. There are people I’ll never forget. There are those I loved for a time, but stopped loving—I don’t hate them, because I don’t love them enough to hate. But I wonder, do they think of me? If they do, how am I remembered?
Would they even know who I really am? Does anyone know who I am? Will anyone ever take the time and effort to know me? To make me feel safe enough that I can be who I am without fear of reprisals? People are scared to really know others—sure you can talk weather, sports, even politics and religion. But they don’t want to know what your inner world looks like, how you feel. So you learn to not risk disclosure, because it will only be used against you at an opportune time—for them.
And maybe I’m not really sure what I was wondering. I wonder why people can discard others with such ease, why they can get angry over petty things, why they’re scared to really be themselves and risk letting someone really know them. I’m confused about why more good people aren’t close to good people and more bad people aren’t close to bad people. Good people are sucked dry by bad people, and all that goodness is wasted.

The people I once knew… do they remember me? And who is the me they remember? If I overheard them talking about me, would I even recognize the person they were discussing?