Britney

I am trapped. In time, in this house.

When I was younger, one of my greatest fears was being forgotten. But I have begun to forget myself.

All of my dreams take place in fractured versions of my school and my family’s home. That is all I have come to know. I have ceased to exist outside of the dual structure that they form in my mind.

Life past the point of my mother’s death has been a series of stuck moments—a four leaf clover dropped in the mud, freeing itself on occasion, only to have the weight of the mire’s residue bring back it down. That is all I have come to know.

Z tells me that it will improve. I will make progress. But what is progress when it all ends facedown in the dirt? That is all. ♦