#039 Athazagoraphobia

I’ve always been scared of losing myself;
by forgetting the sound of your name on my lips, shouted, whispered, loved and lost;

by crumpling half-cut memories in my head like old newspaper clippings;
by replacing the faded smell of childhood homes with hostile hospital sterility;

by blending the taste of the seasons;

by looking into the broken mirror of my shattered self, which reflects a person I no longer recognize.

Truthfully, I’m scared of forgetting.
For what remains if I lose the imprint the world has left on me?

Perhaps, it’s the imprint that I have left on the world.