The same way a potter could keep pinching off clay until their work becomes a meaningless shape,
a writer writes their recounting until they must finish the sentence.
I could write three dictionaries’ worth of descriptions of a memory and it still won’t be exactly like how it was⸻
there is no way to record moments perfectly⸻
videos are flat and pictures don’t account for the passage of time⸻
writing is unseeing.
I’ve spent years reliving this memory.
It’s a shame you won’t be able to know it like I do
because it was devastating.
Author Notes: interlude 3 of my larger project "spacing out"
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