APOCRYPHAL DEATHS

Annie Hurley

Another lost name, another lost face of the people that you swore to always remember slipping through the cracks in your memories, their visages eroded away by the inevitable passing of time –as unstoppable as the sea, and stinging just as harshly.

These ghosts aren’t deceased –at least, not that you know of. You mourn them anyways.

How many dead numbers in your phone, useless permutations cluttering your contacts, no longer in service? No way to speak to them, no way to rediscover their names.

How many people have you forgotten?

(she was important to you, once. you cried when she left. you cannot remember why you cried, just that you did. )

(will you forget him? you swore that you could never, how could you, except you thought that about the rest of them, hadn’t you? and? what are they now to you? nothing. nothing. dust. how could you? how could you forget him after everything he did for you, how could you, how could you, how could you?)