SOUL CRUMBLES

-Simon, I’m lost.
Marte looks at Simon with vacant, distant eyes.
-Don’t worry, Marte.
Simon says, sitting down next to them.
-Now we stop, look around, and start picking up the crumbs.
Simon picks up Marte’s glasses from the floor and carefully begins to clean them with one of his towels.
In the digital floor of the chat room, there are myriad fragments of memory, flashes of thought, hints of images.
As Marte leans back in their ideal chair, Simon opens a box and begins to collect them, one fragment at a time.
He scans them, catalogs them, and carefully places them back in that box, above which is written: “Marte – Ideas, Images, Sounds, Dreams, Will, Memories.”