A building, coming apart.

Does it begin here or does it end? Is this building coming apart, vanishing from memory, or only just taking shape? Has it come to a halt, or is this just a break?

Time’s always slipping away from us.

Do you grasp for something, desperately trying to claw back what you’ve lost, or do you stand back and watch yourself, annihilated in quiet dignity?

Keep going back, digging around.

Something was lost here, something died. There is a tragedy buried in this memory.

But it’s gone, lost to time. Whatever you were, whatever you once believed is gone. That thing, that indefinable, impossible truth that you’d live for is lost, forever, washed away. And that being you’d attached all those hopes and dreams to? Another. No more the object you coveted.

You are forgotten. That man you were – dead. And this memory of a time and a place was the last time you saw him walk. All that followed you home was echoes – the last cries of a dying man.

Someone else now – another life, another inevitable demise. And every time a little less of me remains.


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