Blindness isn't always just for the eyes.


My memories are fading.

Everything I read while I still could said that people born blind don't – can't – dream in images. They dream with smell and taste and touch and sound, but not pictures. People who go blind later in childhood dream like everyone else for a while, but not forever. They dream about the world they have seen.

The same seems to apply to my memories. I can still see them. I work hard to remember my mother's face, the ocean on a sunny day, the way trees' leaves flip over before it rains. Precisely how my house looks – looked. I can still remember the sounds, and the tastes, and the smells, and how things felt in that moment. But even as I memorize the pictures, hold onto them for dear life, they're starting to vanish. They have become hazy, like they're getting deeper and deeper in a pool of water. I can still see them, but the clarity and crispness are deteriorating.

I don't want to lose that, too.

The End

21 comments about this story Feed