her footprints were faint. barely there. the whispers of who she'd been quickly fading.
no one is more than a moment in the chaos of another. a blink and then we disappear. not forgotten. just never really there.
dust on a dirty chalkboard. half erased. phantom, unsolved equations.
we backspace. we edit. memory is our canvas. a panic of colors. and shapes that no longer fit.
we strike. our bodies all flint and sparks. we burn. until the fire consumes us.
fretting much too long over the ashes that remain.
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