she leans into the mic, her voice is raspy and familiar. i know why she doesn't remember my name and my clothes and my story. i know why she chooses to forget.
i can't seem to make out the words she's saying. i want to sit in a corner and hide, but i need to do this right now. i watch her lips as sound flows out like pudding, drops and glops of the stuff making a mess everywhere. i open my mouth to speak too. i sound just like her: incoherent and jumbly.
i watch in horror and disbelief as i morph into her. my nails and lungs turn black, the pins fall out of my hair. i catch a glimpse of my reflection. i look the same as i always have. nothing has changed.