In the tiny room that is her life she kept forgetting how young she is.
Keep forgetting, about the time line that continues and don't stop.
And in her room that is her life, there are boxes of memories that takes up too much space and forces her attention to those moments.
They are piling higher up the wall and outward into the center
of the room, her room that is her life.
It sometimes feels claustrophobic and stuffy inside.
With no doors only windows that lets light in but only half the time.
She can see the wind in the way the trees move but not feel the breeze.
Dismisses from her mind that she has ever felt it before, but at the same time has, but then not quite. Kind of easy to do she realized, this failure to recall things