The Fracture of Memory
The ruins are always the first thing I see when I close my eyes. The charred skeletal remains of the community centre, the smell of wet soot, and the way the New York sky looks like a bruised plum just before the rain starts. They tell me that time is a line, a sequence of events moving from past to present, but for me, time is a circle of ash. I am standing in the ruins now, and I am singing....
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