I went to the Big Bad Wolf warehouse sale.
Saw a lot of books.
Some books which I have read.
They reminded me of my past

My memory has deteriorated since my treatment.
I can't differentiate between a memory or a dream.
It's so unreachably faraway.

As I browsed the titles, shadow pieces of memory drew a picture in my head.
A little picture of my past.
A glimpse of who I was.
A silhouette of my old thoughts and ambitions.
A whisper of my own unadulterated voice.

A soft but determined voice that says

"I am still here."