I am held captive by an image that holds no sentimental value. It is a relentless haunter, formed from what made a strong impression, but was not addressed when it so wanted the attention it felt it deserved. I hold back the curse with all the strength I never knew I had. The exact features are dissolving into a formless shape, but it is no less compelling. A longing does not have to be powerful, in order for it to be distracting. This makes me bite down on my tongue, and I am soundless. Listen, even I can shut up.
It knew me well; I knew it well. Why should familiarity be enough? Why fight for a history, which is nothing but a ghost? Why exalt loyalty as a virtue, when it is to our detriment to remain in one place, or with one person, for too long?
I have to decide, and soon, whether I am fading or becoming.