there is something inside of you. a void. no. a protuberance. no. a virus. no. an inconsistency in temperature. no. a child. no. you've forgotten it.
you forgot something so stunning that it caused you to forget what you were doing. you tell yourself stories to soothe the emptiness. you become the sum of all you've forgotten. one day, you look in the mirror and you're old. you remember what you swore you'd forget. you carry on with your day.
in such a way, we endlessly forsee.
david ian griess
Sylva Dean and Me