I thought it would be enough to turn away.
That a simple retreat — even barely begun — would free me from what I had just brushed against. That there existed, somewhere in this world without slope or wall, a possibility of a blind spot, a direction toward forgetting, a mental about-face capable of silently dissolving what I was not ready to look at.
I wanted to believe one could slip away silently, that turning the eye was enough to dissolve the echo.
But here…
nothing disappears.