Letters to a Robot

the details are a blur, my parents walking me to the building from the car. i felt somewhat out of body. unsure of what was going to happen to me in there. i knew i had to not think about it, just do what the moment called for. and these sort of moments just called for a high sense of denial, of making oneself unaware of all else other than one’s needed physical movements. put one foot in the front of the other, keep your face straight (i had to, my parents did), deny that the tears want to well up from deep down inside. as i write this the tears decide to trickle down, a sign of growth (i hope). think papers were signed and then i was put into a small holding cell. it was clean, nothing like what you see in the movies. and of all things, near the library, ironic thinking of all the innocent (not so innocent) times i spent in the library. “studying” with my boyfriends and just hanging out with friends. a sense of time was lost so i started counting tiles. they were small, brown maybe? it’s been so long my mind eludes me, even if i wanted to remember. and now, i do want to remember. why is it so easy to forget? even the things you eventually don’t want to.