As I watched and didn't listen, I heard the man silently speak of memories that were not his. How I knew the memories the dying man did not speak of were not his; they were mine! Or were they? If they ever were mine I cannot remember. These stolen memories of mine, of his, belong to no one. The dying man's corpse stands beside me and leans in to whisper,
"You are not the one who is living," he shouts. I move closer.
"What?" I say. "I can't hear you. Say it again." He tells me I heard him and I did. I tell him I do not understand.
"Yes you do," he says. "Think harder." Then I look at myself without a mirror and realize what the living man's corpse had said was true.
"Oh," and with that simple word I fall to the floor, alive as a stone. |
Submission Name: Comprehensible Confusion
