Everything feels like a fragment of the past. Everything feels like it's already happened. Every good memory is from ten years ago. Every core memory I have is from ten years ago. Every song that moved me immeasurably is turning ten this year. I haven't figured out who I am, who I love or who loves me in ten years. I've only figured out different names for my loneliness. Sometimes it's big, sometimes small, sometimes it demands my attention like a child tugging at my skirt, other times it stays hidden, scared to rattle me, scared to be found.
Everything around me looks and feels smaller than it used to. The walls seem to be moving towards me inch by inch. The bed is getting smaller. My right eye produces tears more easily than my left.
I've always been here. Always. I've only ever looked back.
