We once shared so many memories — laughter around the table, quiet walks at dusk, the warmth of familiar voices echoing in celebration of life. Those moments were once mine, held like treasured keepsakes in the folds of my mind. I used to revisit them often, especially in quiet, private moments, when the world slowed and I could reflect on the richness of our time together.
But then came the slow unravelling.
At first, it was small — a name slipping through the cracks, a date lost in the blur of days. Then larger pieces began to fall away, whole chapters of my story fading into the fog. The past—once vivid—became fragmented. Then the present, too, became elusive, flitting past me before I could grasp it. Conversations dissolved mid-sentence. Faces became unfamiliar. I no longer trusted the mirror.
And the future? There is no space for it now. No plans, no expectations. It's as though it is forgotten before it even happens.
Now, I sit quietly. Still here, and yet... not. Oblivious to the ticking of the clock, the shifting of seasons, the subtle rituals of daily life. Time no longer holds meaning. It’s just a word others speak.
There is nothing left to share—not because I don’t want to, but because the words, like memories, are gone.
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