I have flashes. I have memories with missing pieces like a 1,000 piece jigsaw puzzle that I can’t make out. I call them my blurs. The parts of my life where I’m not sure what happened and I don’t know why. Sometimes I’m not sure if my blurs are real. I’m not sure if they’re a dream or if they actually happened. It should scare me but it confuses me more than anything.

I remember a lighthouse.  I must have been 5 or 6. It was on the Oregon Coast and it was white. There was no one there but my family and I. Round stones were scattered and piled up around it. Then there’s a blur. I’m at a white painted house. I don’t know how. I don’t know where.  I’m by myself. There are people standing in the doorway talking and I don’t exist to them. 

It’s like when Harry Potter goes back in time after discovering Tom Riddles past. He’s viewing a memory like he’s in a movie but no one can see him. No one can hear him. That was me. Invisible. I don’t know if this is a dream I had when I was younger. I don’t know if it’s a memory. I don’t know if it’s real. I don’t know why I remember it in detail. 

I asked my parents about the white lighthouse, the stones, the white painted house. They brushed it off and avoided it saying “we went to lighthouses all the time when you were little.. it could’ve been anything”

It could’ve been anything? 

It could have been anything. 


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