09 Feb

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She didn’t want to talk about ‘the thing’ at first.

But then it tumbled out, and there was no stopping it.

Unspeakable horror.

And yet somehow, it had been spoken, and even more inexplicably, survived.

I felt sick, my legs turned weak, my mind reeled.

How could she bear to live with such savage imagery infiltrating every corner of her consciousness?


Memory can be so cruel.

Why must the thoughts keep returning?

Why won’t they leave us alone?

The past was bleak enough. Why must memory steal the present too?

If only we could unknow and unsee it. Then we could breathe more deeply, and trust the world is safe once more.

And we wouldn’t be so afraid to submit to sleep where the monster roams free, tormenting us, as we lie defenceless, unprotected by the knowledge that it’s over, and is now just a thought.


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