I keep trying to get rid of it.
The shape, the memory,
the weight of something that used to be clear.
I cover it, scratch it out,
bury it under layers.
But it doesn’t go away.
It comes back as fragments,
as stains,
as something that presses from underneath.
I don’t think these are images anymore.
They feel more like traces of a body
that refuses to leave.
Not visible, not gone，just constantly returning.
