I don't remember much about before.
I remember a woman's laugh, bright and twinkling like a bell, but muted as though ringing under layers and layers of soft cottons and lace. I remember pieces of faces; the soft, shy smile of a girl, vivid green eyes with a ring of gold around the pupil, a button nose and rosy cheeks, round and soft and content. I remember the languid movement of someone I loved, and the graceful movements of another. Most of all, I remember the sun. I remember warmth and love, the feeling of safety and belonging, and the knowledge that it all was well enough.
I don't know where I am now- this place is cold, unforgiving, yet it seems to mold about my mind in a way that seems unusual. I feel as though I am slowly, lazily drifting through air, thickened with the sounds of people who are not me.
I don't remember much about before. I don't know much about now. All I know is that there is something not quite right, something off about this and that and all which is. But I don't know what.