I stand, looking around.

I spot a mug, it looks familiar.

Then a bookshelf, and then a picture.

It’s all so familiar, but from where I can’t decide.

I turn, and things fade.
I don’t remember the
colour of my eyes or the name of my favourite movie.

Cracks in the wall form,
the edges of the room
curve, it gets smaller.

Then I hear a voice, I turn around but no one is there.

“I can’t remember her much,” the voice says.

The books from the
bookshelf fade. The mug cracks
and the picture begins to disappear.

Then I see,
I’m not in this room, but only a mere memory.
Everything starts to fade.

I live in the back of someone’s mind,
they don’t think of me,
I’m not important.

The room fades as I try to escape
but I always come back.

The room turns white,
then I start to glow.

“They’re remembering my
face,” I say as hope grows.

But just like the end of a book, they flip the last
page, and all I am is
just one big memory
that

begins

to

fade