They joke about forgotten names,
about moments lost in air,
but my missing pieces
are heavier than laughter can bear.
Some faces live only as shadows,
some weeks dissolve in a blur,
yesterday slips through my fingers
before I’m sure it was ever there.
My mind is a room with scattered lights,
flickering on, then gone,
memories knock but don’t always enter,
and morning feels like I’m reborn.
Every day is a reset day—
a quiet, unfamiliar start,
I rebuild myself from fragments
with a brave and trembling heart.
They laugh at memory as a joke,
I carry it as a fight,
searching for pieces of who I was
just to feel whole tonight.
Still, I wake.
Still, I try.
Still, I choose to live what’s new.
Even with a shattered yesterday,
today, I am still me — true.
Nov 28, 2025
Nov 28, 2025 at 8:47 PM UTC
They joke about forgotten names,
about moments lost in air,
but my missing pieces
are heavier than laughter can bear.
Some faces live only as shadows,
some weeks dissolve in a blur,
yesterday slips through my fingers
before I’m sure it was ever there.
My mind is a room with scattered lights,
flickering on, then gone,
memories knock but don’t always enter,
and morning feels like I’m reborn.
Every day is a reset day—
a quiet, unfamiliar start,
I rebuild myself from fragments
with a brave and trembling heart.
They laugh at memory as a joke,
I carry it as a fight,
searching for pieces of who I was
just to feel whole tonight.
Still, I wake.
Still, I try.
Still, I choose to live what’s new.
Even with a shattered yesterday,
today, I am still me — true.
Some memories aren’t forgotten by choice — they’re lost to survival. This is what healing looks like when the mind is still learning how to remember again. 🤍