By Myself.

In class assignment: Isolate a moment. Write "I remember" every time something from memory erupts. Then remove "I remember".

All the time I feared we may lose what was meant for us. Alone, I didn’t have anyone else. Silence could not be harmed. But what isn’t affected could never change me, and perhaps for some time now this absoluteness replaced all the other things I couldn’t depend on. How different I was before I came. And did you notice? That’s okay, too. Not everything is meant for memory, although we intend it to be. Meaningful, I think. At least, I don’t remember, the feeling of my hands. Whether absence was my punishment for going under too long, not considering what was meant for us. How I stared like I was fascinated by water, like I had found my eyes. In my bath, the body retains nothing it already knows. Wondering who I’ve become, hands wander in the shape of an opinion. And I, I push under; holding breath, I challenge consciousness, every time more severely. The heart pulsing is not something I can fall asleep to so I wake to whatever hasn’t happened. Leaving myself drained, I step out lighter, smelling of something, but can’t remember the feeling of my hands. We almost were close. Red, splotchy. My eyes see reflected a newborn child. I am numb to sensations coming from myself. My first feelings are never mine. I think. I don’t know. On the tile floor, I am kept clean. And if we are anything alike you probably know this and hear the sound of my body dripping wet. Which is why you call out, why I move. I am coming soon. Driven faster by fear of losing what was meant for us. From marble to rock, I’ve a moment still in being by myself, so I slow. Stepping on the outside, I’m aware only of the sounds I make. A moment more to wonder whether you can cause change, if not just be it—the feeling in my hands. This, you already know, before I wrote, will be how, be why I begin to write us. There’s less chance I’ll stay clean once I walk across the rocks. But it’s less likely we will lose what was meant for us if I do, so I do and I trip, thinking of the time we’re approaching and the harm I’ve already effected. In silence, you watched me cause my own mistake as if this was the first chance in seeing me, really.