Birds

When did my mind become a vaccuum, a black hole of nothing?

I searched harder. Something, anything. It must have been so important to me, back then. I could almost imagine me, smiling to myself late at night as I carved it into the wood.  

Was it you, Jack? Was it you I defiled my bedroom wall for? Or was it someone else, a face obliterated from my mind like all the others? I groaned, and rolled over, putting my back to the elusive carving.  I'm so tired of not knowing! Jack, I envy you. You're out there somewhere, carefree as the birds. I could reach out and touch you, flying high. But I don't remember anything! I need to remember. I'm stuck on the ground while I know nothing.

I'm even forgetting you, Jack. I'm forgetting your laugh, and how the girls used to swoon as you passed. You never knew that, never believed me. But I saw them from behind you, teasingly fanning their friends and secretly wanting you themselves. I'm forgetting the way you played the guitar, how your whole world revolved around it.

I don't want to forget Jack. Forgetting is leaving behind, and cutting myself adrift from the world, to float through life. 

The End

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