Her mind replayed what had once been. A constant stream of moments, snapshots of people and places and objects once loved.
They were silent. Vividly brilliant, like colors flashing across a projector’s screen. But no movement, no sound.
“Stop living in the past,” people told her, again and again.
She listened for a time. She lived in the now, where colors were brilliant and sounds were vibrant and the swirl of movement swept her up in joy.
When she revisited memory, it was soundless and still, colorless and flat.
Flattened and faded
Memories pressed and preserved
Twisted by time’s march
Written for Friday Fictioneers.
PHOTO PROMPT © Jellico’s Stationhouse