I know that words are so hollow
I feel hollow words
I think that I am sorry
I ruined something
I was sitting at the piano in the living room, playing the same four measures of music over and over.
I can remember a time before the timelessness came. It’s only been five years, and I’ve been alive twelve. Twelve years, four months, one week, and two days, not that I should be keeping track.
Prologue: The memories
There were memories.
Vague ones, but memories nonetheless.
Growing up is scary
So far I don’t like it all that much
I am expected to know
What I want to be in perfect detail
I have to learn how to drive
Without being afraid of the big trucks
I have sat and stayed this way, wrongly accepting that there’s not much that I can change.
However, recently, I have come to see
that life is a chronicle
and you have to compile the moments that define you.
I think I know the lady at the end of the street, the one with the gardens
When I am running we exchange glances as she plants lilies in various shades