A Memory

A sickness came over me whose origins were never determined though it became more and more difficult to sustain the pretense of normalcy, of good health or joy in existence — Gradually I wanted only to be with those like myself; I sought them out as best I could which was no easy matter since they were all disguised or in hiding. But eventually I did find some companions and in that period I would sometimes walk with one or another by the side of the river, speaking again with a frankness I had nearly forgotten — and yet, more often we were silent, preferring the river over anything we could say — on either bank, the tall marsh grass blew calmly, continuously, in the autumn wind. And it seemed to me I remembered this place from my childhood, though there was no river in my childhood, only houses and lawns. So perhaps I was going back to that time before my childhood, to oblivion, maybe it was that river I remembered.

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