If you’d told 12-year-old me I could forget I loved something, I’d have laughed at you. Back then, love was this mystical idea of perfection. Love was all strong men sweeping women off their feet and so on and so forth.
That isn’t the kind of love I mean though. There’s a lot to be said about forgetting you love someone, but I am talking about something.
We all have objects or activities we love. An object might go missing and we forget it and then, months or years later, it turns up and we feel nostalgic and excited. We forgot how much we loved that book or sweater or pair of earrings.