A Forgotten Impulse

Words to include: fade, session, impulse

Just one more session and she’ll be gone. Reduced to a photographic relic of a forgotten past. Or at least a past I wish were forgotten. The impulsive part of me that said “yeah, sure, I’ll get a tattoo” lasered away as though it had never been there in the first place.

She was raw impulse, naiive but bull-headed in her beliefs. So strong willed, out to prove herself, that she existed, had a voice loud enough to be heard. Every question answered with a “why not?” or a definitive “yes”, answering many a question with my own “what’s it to you?” or, “why should I tell you that?”. I lived in a constant state of anarchy and change, where my future was yet to unfold. And here I was in the future, erasing the last traces of her.

Was she doomed to fade away into nothing, reduced to a story I told my children at night so they wouldn’t make the same mistake? Was that all she would be now, a mistake? Her carefree nature, her jeers in the face of change reduced to fumes in the hope for more stability.

Would erasing her even achieve that?

Could I even erase her? Or was this last vestige merely the tip of the iceberg now rooted deep within my being?

“The doctor will see you now Miss Newton”.

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