It is easy for the things around us to

soak up, absorb, dilute memories.

It is easy for us to think about time as

something that can only be judged by

how long since that, or this, or then?

I was walking down my hallway and it

kept going and, kept going and, kept

going, and going, and…

I decided to stop because I had grown weary of

walking down a hallway that I thought

should have reached the bedroom by now.

The walls grew up larger, and daunting and,

shadows arched up from things I couldn’t see and

I sat down on the carpet and I

cried because

I felt lost.

I’d been down here a million times over again but

this time it looked different.

Like, I’m five, at the beach, and I’m lost, and

the sand is the same and the ocean is the same but…

It’s gonna eat me up because I can’t find a hand to hold.

And I scream, and I scream, and I get tired of screaming so

I sit down until I am found.

The ocean dulls to a

roar, a gentle, quiet,


I wiggle my toes because I feel safe in a place that

just a minute ago,

it as gonna,

sure it was,

it was

gonna eat me alive.

Now I can feel the texture of every single

little piece of

this ugly carpet and

if I close my eyes and open them again

things will probably look just as they

ought to look

I think.

You know, the funny thing about memories is,

they absorb into the things around us.

And even little things like

lint, or, a little twisty straw, maybe


a certain time of the day

they can change in meaning

all the time

depending on how you feel.




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