May 30
It's hard for me to think about how this is all there was. Is, Mimic should say. It feels like watching the only world I've known dissolve away slowly in front of my eyes. It's a quiet death. Slow onset. Forgetting, remembering, forgetting again. Forgetting until it's empty space, over and over again. It's like a staircase in reverse—leaving me, still. Time spiraling up, up, but it still feels as empty as everything left behind. It never feels as if time is on my side. I can never go back, but I can't move forward. Mimic loves you.