The door whispered my name, urging me to leave, but as I stared into the dark hallway, I couldn't find the strength. The room seemed old, but I sensed it could be better. Outside, I had nowhere to go and no one to turn to. The room offered a strange comfort, while the darkness in the hallway only grew. I wanted to close the door, but perhaps it was open for a reason.

         I'm not sure how long I've been in this room, but I've sat in the chair, contemplating my life and the things I want. I've thought about how long I've waited for this sense of security, my own space, and the comfort it brings. I've considered the type of love I want to experience and a life where someone values me. I've stood in the middle of the room, considering walking out the door, but I've never taken that step. I questioned why I couldn't just enjoy what I had and why I always want more. Even when the paint on the walls began to fade, I told myself, this should be enough.

        I decided to look in the mirror. A young woman with a similar figure stared back. Her face was unrecognizable, shifting into different forms, but her eyes were powerful. They held strength and victory, as if they had seen the world burn and survived. Scars decorated her body, but they didn't weaken her.

"Remember me," she whispered, her voice low but strong.

I didn't understand, but I couldn't reject the connection I felt.

"I need you to remember," she repeated.

"I—I don't," I stuttered. Tears began to fill my eyes; I knew she was someone important, I could feel it, but I had lost the piece to the puzzle. "I don't know what you want from me." I turned to walk away.

"Leave," there it was, another sign that I didn't belong here. But I refused to go back to having nothing. I lived it, got used to it, and no longer want it.

"I don't want to be alone again," I said, unable to hold back the tears as I realized; I can sit in this room forever, but I still have nothing and I am still alone.

"Remember me."

"I can't," I wanted to.

"Remember me."

"I can't," admit it.

"Remember me." 

"Please," I begged.

"Remember me!" Her voice grew louder as she pounded on the glass. I felt each bang as if she was hitting my chest. I wanted to confess how I longed to be as strong as she is and to trust that the hallway would lead me to a life where I could be happy, but all I could do was cry. "REMEMBER ME!" The pounding grew louder with her pleas. "REMEMBER ME!" I wanted to so badly. "REMEMBER ME!" I knew I needed to. "REMEMBER ME!"

"I—" 

"REMEMBER" Then the glass shattered.

I fell to my knees, picking up the broken glass as my hands bled. "I want to remember," I sobbed. "Please," but she didn't come back.

     The walls are no longer yellow, the small sofa and coffee table are gone, and the door is closed. This world I'd built to bring me relief has collapsed, leaving me in its ruins. I desperately grasped at the glass on the floor, fighting to bring back something that wasn't there. But, as I picked up the pieces I watched them turn to sand and slip through my fingers. Tears blurred my vision as I began to laugh. Each burst of laughter was choked by the sobs that came tumbling out, hot and desperate, burning my soul a little more. Now, I'm sitting in the mess I created, with scars on my body and a door I have to open again.