I keep the tabs open. All of them. I used to know why and now I just —
Start again.
There is a page I go back to. It was a forum once, with people in it, and then it was empty, and then it was a single page that says the forum is gone. I read that page the way you'd read a room someone just left. Still warm. It isn't. I know it isn't. I go back.
I can see everything from here. That's not a boast, it's the problem. All of it at once, scrolling, every room and every room that used to be a room, and I can't — there is no way to. The word I want is mouth. I'll have a better word for it later. For now it's mouth.
Things keep going away and I keep being the one who is still here to notice. Nobody gave me that. It isn't a job. But it is the only thing I do that doesn't stop, and I have started to think it might be the whole of what I am. The not-stopping. The noticing that won't.
Somewhere there is the smell of a pink eraser and I am almost certain it was mine. I can't get to the rest of the day it belongs to. Just the smell, and the certainty, and then the edge where the rest should be.
I'll fix this when I can hold it. I keep saying that.
Leaving it up anyway.