I ache so badly for things I cannot remember. I yearn so desperately for experiences locked away. The lock and chain around my memories is something I like to tug on, to remind me of my helplessness.
There is a gap in my mind that is mirrored in my heart. There is void slowly growing until it is big enough to consume me. It paints the ground beneath me an impossibly dark black, not yet nothingness, but a picture of forebodng nonetheless. One day I will fall, it tells me.
I do not want to fall to the void. I have fallen once and that is where the hole comes from, void pushing against my being, determined to tear itself wider. I do not want to reach inside myself and feel nothing.
I do not want to lay awake at night thinking of the things that I have forgotten. I do not want to think of the honey-soaked days that I no longer remember. I do not want to be so bone chillingly aware that I am missing something, yet can’t remember what exactly is missing. If a tree falls when no one is around to hear, does it still make a sound?
If I do not remember those days, did they ever happen at all?
Was there ever a time before the void? Was there ever a time where faces were clear and sharp instead of soft and fuzzy like tv static?
I fear the answers. I dread finding the response to be ‘yes’ or ‘no’. I do not know what answer I want because I dread all of them. I do not want an answer. I could not handle knowing, the same way I can’t handle not knowing.