The absence of the past was disconcerting at first. Our sense of memory was starved with nothing to latch onto and nothing to do. In compensation, we built worlds, just so we could live in them. We invited other creatures to join us. They accepted. We kept building and collecting. Nothing could stop us. We expanded our reach to the stars and lolled on alien shores and considered our origins. Suddenly, we wanted the intervening events to disappear. So many memories. They were nothing but irrelevant clutter now. We endured the tyranny of disarray with a quiet and sobering stoicism.
I’m a novelist, poet, and short story writer living in the Desert Southwest.
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