my brain buries my memories. on the other hand, i tend to be an extremely well-documented person so no slate of mine is ever entirely wiped clean.
on one day in particular, i had absolutely no content and i was consumed with emptiness. upon attempting to speak, i stuttered. consequently, the decision was made to ingest old content rather than to create and i set out to dig up old expressions of previous inhabitants. these mostly consisted of young emotional ramblings i tend to find cringe-worthy, but suddenly i was wallowing in it. to my utmost surprise and horror, there were tears, and the next thing i knew i was dragging you into my self-induced nightmare.
all of the concepts within seemed foreign. the pieces of me lacked any resemblance to the whole that currently inhabited my vessel. and there was this raw brutal honesty, but through it i could only see weakness. and there was this sting and a putrid sour which accompanied it all. witnessing, first hand, the loss of who i was in exchange for what i’ve become made all of it seem final. and i grieved, slightly, for remnants of a self left behind.
“you’ve got a soft spot.”
like a stone, i claimed. because it was true in ways… though sometimes it wasn’t. i can tell that you know that. i can tell that you know i won’t speak of this weakness.
i can promise you that we will never speak of it.
in between raindrops in the garage, i imagined you were exhaling all that was in exchange for what is. i wondered if you cried, then, but mostly i doubted it.