Vincent van Zandvoort
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Missing Memory

Apr 23, 2023

Missing Memory

The way home, from wherever I'm coming from—may it never end. No one is there waiting for me; there is only silence and an ever-unmade memory.

The front door squeaks like my heart—the opening of a portal, revealing an abandoned house. The grime—dustification of my soul.

I hurt; I'm out of control. I cry out in the darkness, "God, there's nothing here to see; I'm a never-made memory."

In every corner, inside every room, everywhere I look—emptiness.

The cold night—may it never end. The darkness is blind; it never judges and understands all my bad decisions; it'll never tell on me.

The past, like a guide dog, will not let me be; it blinded my entire life and turned me into an unmade memory—just me; no one else can see.

"He's such a kind person."
"How come he's so alone?"
"He always smiles and looks so gentle."
"There must be so much peace inside his soul."

My last action is to save myself from more emptiness. I step outside, close the door, and start walking; I'm never coming back. Finally, they'll all find out and see how I take away their ever-unmade memory.

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