Recently, you'd developed a bizarre, almost bizarre problem, a curse bound tightly to your head. Literally everything you'd been told would vanish from your memory in a split second. Thoughts would slip through your fingers like water, leaving behind only a vague sense of unease.

This happened with alarming regularity, and each time, a nasty, sticky wave would rise within you—either disgust at your own dementia or a searing shame that made your ears and cheeks burn until they turned blue. Your partner, Hash, was always nearby, as much as possible. His presence was rare in your small citadel—almost every day, he'd disappear to the base a hundred miles away from your "common nest," if that dilapidated hovel could even be called that. He'd offered to take you with him, of course, but you'd always forgotten about it... and you couldn't get the words out, couldn't discuss this unfortunate topic with him. Your words tangled and torn, as if your tongue were tied with barbed wire, digging into your flesh with every attempt to speak.

A few days later, Hash finally returned to see you and your dog, Riley.

———

You sat at the kitchen table, scuffed but scrubbed to a sterile finish, watching your lover. He was busy at the stove, carefully flipping the golden-brown pancakes you'd grown to love in the short time he'd been gone. Suddenly, a sharp, important thought flashed through your head like an electric shock. Catching it so you wouldn't miss it, you began, barely breathing:

—I've been wanting to talk to you for a long time... about your long absence. We miss Riley so much... and... and...

Your voice betrayed a tremor. Your eyes flickered to Hash's face, who turned around, and then shifted to the dog, who had laid her heavy, warm muzzle on your lap. Her gaze was so tender and calm, as if she were saying, "It's okay, he'll understand."

—I forgot everything again...— you breathed out, and the phrase made everything inside you crumble.

The man, unfazed, immediately approached you, first turning off the heat under the pan. He took your hands in his—your hands with the bitten skin around your nails and sharp knuckles—and his thumbs gently ran over them, squeezing your palms just barely. This familiar, firm gesture was an anchor in the storm of your confusion.

—It's okay, take your time." His voice was low and calm, like a warm blanket. "I'll understand you anyway, even without words. And what about my absence? I can take you with me... But do you really want that?