#memoryslips
I wake up and the edges of myself feel thin, as if I might fray and drift away at any moment. The world is close and far at the same time, like I’m looking through a window smeared with yesterday’s fingerprints. I remember things and then forget them again, small moments slipping out of my hands before I even know they were mine. Faces arrive, familiar but distant, voices echoing like they belong to someone else, laughter sounding like a sound I once knew but can’t claim. Time moves around me in crooked lines, and I stumble through days that feel borrowed, trying to find solid ground in a mind that refuses to hold still. There are sparks that cut through the fog—a song, a smell, a fleeting thought—but they vanish before I can hold them, leaving only the memory of something I never fully touched. And through it all, I keep moving, keep breathing, pretending the gaps don’t exist, even as I feel myself split into fragments, chasing pieces I can’t name, lost in the weight of a body and mind that sometimes feel not entirely my own.
Nov 21, 2025
Nov 21, 2025 at 1:01 PM UTC