This poem resonated with me in more ways than one; what is (not) forgetting?

THOTPURGE

I close my eyes tight to
stop my brain, it works for
a moment, a crunched silence
into which the darkness melts. A
friend is kind, sends me a recording
of ocean sounds, to
soothe, to
overwrite, kind but stupid. It works for
a moment, a serendipitous seashore in
absentia, leaving sand in my mouth, tracing
water down your bare skin.
Forgetting is not
about memories, not
about time, not
about replacement, not
about piecing a broken heart together
with wistful, melancholic verse, not
about staring long and hard at an
unmoving horizon. Forgetting is to
pretend, to
pretend the moon does not feel cold
as it kneels within you, to
pretend the colours of dawn
don’t seep through your joined
palms, forgetting is to
pretend you are not
holding your breath, waiting,
praying.
Ask the ocean.

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