Remembrance, alone
There is a space without Place
thin as breath—bright as bone,
where I wonder
if I am The Memory
or just remembering my place as
Remembrance, alone.
The day folds into quiet, Spaceless distasteful Gaps in the silence. Still
I feel the weight of things not done-
press against the spine of the world.
What if every unfinished thing
learned my name,
called it back to me in the hush
before sleep?
Would I wake wearing their ghosts,
a vessel of half-lived futures,
an archive of abandoned potential
still smoldering beneath my skin?
I do not know if I am becoming,
or merely circling the ruins
of what I once promised myself.
Still
there is something in the circling.
–cam.d.s.
8:07 pm
∆Remember Us∆ 