#fragmentedwriting

I thought it was buried.

But when the season warmed

and it came into view again—

I could no longer look away.

Memories I had forgotten the existence of

quietly surfaced.

A decision had to be made.

To dig a deeper hole

and bury it for good,

layer after layer—

or

to hold back the nausea

and chew it down,

piece by piece.

I keep looking at the door. Though I’m not expecting anything.

Somehow, I’m standing by the intercom. In case someone rings the bell.

I don’t know why I’m like this. It feels like I’ve forgotten something.

If I take just one step from here, I feel like I might remember.