Memory, Interrupted.

The non-place

It was gone. She was lost without it.

It defined her. It was all she ever had. She had no idea how to continue without it. Her life felt purposeless and frozen. She wanted it back more than anything else in this World. And, try as she may, she just wasn’t able to have it anymore. She unceasingly mourned its absence.

She had heard them say, “You can take her out of it, but you can’t take it out of her”.

She believed what they said. She heard what she believed.

And then rather atypically, she chimed. Like she had unraveled a clue.

Maybe she knew where it was or where it could be. Maybe she had known all along. She was convinced it could be found at The non-place. She recalled having been there herself.   The non-place lay amid the past and the present. The non-place was her most favorite place. She believed, if she visited The non-place she would find it; awaiting her arrival.

She knew! She knew how to bring it back. And, she knew when it was back, she would be back too.

She toiled and tumbled towards it. She jumped walls, crossed tunnels and relentlessly made her way through all the check points. She found herself completely wound up but not before she glimpsed a silhouette. The non-place was still afar, but she knew she had found it. She could hardly contain herself. It was right in front of her. She stretched her hand out to feel its looming presence.

But, as she approached it, she realized she wasn’t nearing it anymore. The closer she got towards it, the more displaced she became. She tried to outrun herself but there was no getting away. As though her very being was sliding her away from it. And, as if it were the beginning of her end, its presence kept eliminating hers.

Her unbecoming was its metamorphosis. There was a strangeness in her being. There was a strangeness in its being. It was no longer like itself. She was no longer herself. She no longer was.

It was gone, again. She was lost with it.



Longing and belonging : reclaiming a memory lost in time (through my eyes)


My eyes prepare to archive the nowness of then,

before it was is, and now its was.


My eyes bleed to actualize the nowness of then,

when it is, is, and before now’s was.


My eyes protect the nowness of then,

before it rolls down my face,

vetting its trail from is to was.


My eyes lay undone as I witness it,

one last time:

when it is it , and now it’s gone.