The silence between the notes

You said to ask. If I needed anything in my future, all I'd have to do is ask. But what I need is for this to be gone, or to have never existed...So the memories can be gone, disappear like they never even were.  The memories of where we sat. And where we talked. And how you looked. And what I wore. And what you said. And what we swore. And what I feared. And what you hid. Or what I feared you hid.  All those memories make the feelings too strong. Too current. Too real. But you can't "fix" that while those memories are still here. And neither can I. So I just get angry. Or sad. Or confused. And it intensifies how much I hate you. And how much I hate everything we lost. Because I'm sure that you already forgot the memories, or never had them in the first place. And it was really just me, by myself, all along.  But what can either of us do to fix that now? Nothing...And what's left to work for or hope for...Nothing...And what could I possibly ask you to help wit...

The trouble with calling us "teachers" is that it implies our purpose is to teach.  Not necessarily to inspire learning.  The trouble with calling them "students" is that it implies their purpose is to study.  Not necessarily to be inspired with learning.  But teachers can't teach what we don't know.  And in this life, no one can know everything. Or anything really.  At least, not anything worth knowing.  We can preach and we can assess but that's not truly teaching.  And students won't study what they don't care about.  And in this society, no one cares about everything.  Or anything really.  At least, not anything we "teach" in school.  They can memorize and they can test but that's not the same as learning.  So what if the teachers stopped trying to teach?  Because there's more to life than what any one person can learn, so there's more to knowing than what any one person teach.  And that's the scary thing abo...