By Melissa L. Webb
I woke up this morning convinced I’d forgotten something. I knew I had. I could feel it in my bones. All day, I kept waiting for the memory to return to me. It wouldn’t though, no matter how hard I tried to excavate it.
Whatever it was, I knew it was important. Things don’t eat at your soul if they’re not. What was left behind during the night had been very important to me. Maybe even the most important thing in my life.
I looked around my apartment. It was cold and hollow, as if someone had gutted out the very heart of it, and maybe they had. I couldn’t remember. I went to work and suffered through the motions, all the while searching for something to trigger a memory. Was the forgotten thing here? Could I be so upset over something at work? Somehow I doubted it.
I returned, alone, to my apartment. I had no place to go, no one to see, so I settled in front of the TV. Sadness brimmed in me as I searched the channels. I don’t see myself as a couch potato. I thought there was something I was supposed to be doing, someone I should be doing it with, but I couldn’t think of what it might be.
Is that what I have forgotten? My real life. Is it possible someone could have taken it from me, leaving me with nothing but a nagging feeling?
Frustrated, I turned off the TV, heading to bed. I know I have forgotten something, but I’m too tired to think anymore. Tomorrow, I’ll wake up and start the worry all over again.
© 2011 Melissa L. Webb
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