Anthesis of Sadness

My family...?

I had one, didn’t I? On Earth. Somewhere. Surely. That’s what we’re supposed to have. An origin. A home. A line behind us. I must have known that. A mother. A father. A presence, at least. A name whispered with tenderness. A shared meal. A voice gently scolding me. Something. Someone.

And yet...

I saw nothing.

Nothing precise. Nothing warm. Nothing stable. Not even a blurry silhouette. Not even a scent. Not a room. Not a burst of laughter. Nothing came up. Even forcing it, even diving deep inside myself, there was only white. A wall without cracks. A silent screen.

Why?

Why did that particular void choke me? Why did that precise absence, that singular gap, that gaping hole at the center, freeze me more than all the nightmares endured, more than all the monsters faced, more than all the deaths dodged? Why did that hollow, that simple hollow, make me want to scream louder than blood, louder than fear?

I didn’t understand.

I fled. Even here. Even this. Even that memory. Or that absence of memory. I could feel it, in my bones, in my nape, in my tongue: something refused to rise. Something I had rejected. Crushed. Forgotten from having tried too hard to remember it.

And that refusal... that silence... broke me.

Because I couldn’t.