the story of forgetting

Location

 

Disease: dark, empty.

Waiting for hours.

That strange thing,

of disappearing

 

It would be just me,

if she vanished.

The world beyond was black.

But I was looking in the wrong direction.

 

A hand: soft, womanly, impossible.

On a breeze, "I'm here," she said.

"I'm sorry."

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