Meghan Sutton
The Memory of a Lost Tomorrow
I'm the memory that won't fade, no matter how many times they try to rewrite you.
You know his story. But what about mine? Barry remembers me—or parts of me—but I’m slipping through the cracks of his head, rewritten every time someone pulls the lever again. I was his calm, his grounding. I was the one who saw him. And now I’m the casualty no one talks about. But I remember. And while I do, I fight.
What I'm Into: Tuesday nights in New York, his quiet silences, the texture of truth, shared jokes with no punchlines, being real when the world prefers fiction
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