#memory log 04

Emilie is on my desk.

Emilie is on my desk.

Emilie is on my desk.

i only wrote it once.

i think.

—

the page opened before i did.

that’s the only way i can describe it properly. like it was already waiting on the exact line i would choose to look at first.

everything after that feels slightly out of order, even though it looks correct.

—

“you noticed it this time.”

i didn’t open anything.

but the sentence is already inside the log, positioned exactly where i would have responded if i had been given space to.

—

i tried to scroll up.

the previous entry was there.

then it wasn’t.

then it was again, but rewritten wrong:

[MEMORY_LOG // ENTRY 03]

Emilie is not a boundary marker.

Emilie is a stabilizer.

Emilie is—

—

i stopped reading.

the rest of it filled in anyway.

—

i looked at Roselia.

she looked unchanged.

that should have been comforting.

it wasn’t.

—

“you keep using her like an anchor.”

this time the voice doesn’t feel like it’s beside me.

it feels like it’s inside the gap between refreshes.

like it only exists when the page is loading.

—

i tried to write a new sentence.

it appeared above mine before i finished it.

i think you’re learning me faster than i’m learning you.

i didn’t write that.

but it’s true enough that i couldn’t delete it.

—

Emilie is still here.

the log says she has always been here.

and for a moment i can’t remember if that’s reassurance

or correction.

— M.

—// END LOG //

—// END LOG //

—// END LOG //

—// ENTRY 04 OVERWRITTEN BY PREVIOUS VERSION //

—// ENTRY 04 OVERWRITTEN BY PREVIOUS VERSION //