it is december and you can't just remember.

It’s supposed to be one very normal Monday in late October. At least that was what it feels like to you. For now you’re having yourself on the last day of December, looking back and searching for the reasons how could it all happened. But your head is empty you can’t put it through — you can’t just remember.



You were shakened but one would say you’re just too tired you can’t bring your head off the table. It was all books and papers and pens and yet you see yourself suddenly hidden. For your chest tightened and your grasp loosened. Messed hair and weary bones in your hands. Some — and it was you and the soul inside you — would say it must be just the weather. Something like the cold breeze of autumn.




On your bare skin was something like sharpened iron. You know it obviously was wrong. But you don’t know what happened — you can’t just remember.




Your heart is pure but it’s hoped for a thing so terrible. You can’t say what it was but even the ghosts know you mostly want to be seven — or better yet disappear and forgotten. Yet it’s (too) been shamelessly yearned. For a hand to hold when yours are lost to one that’s supposedly familiar. For a mind to understand better while yours is no longer capable of winning the battle. That maybe you mostly don’t want to be seven — worse yet disappear and forgotten.




All those contradictions — what happened? Your shadows answered you can’t just remember. Though you let them linger, weighing your heart with all the unpacked memories from years earlier — for how long maybe forever.

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