Wanting Memories [A Ficletary Tribute]

I walk slowly down the large, cavernously cosy hall, my hollow footsteps echoing coldly off the barren walls.

I looked around the place, so many memories talking back to me through the sunbeams. I’d stumbled upon this hall, and its tributary wings, out of curiosity one early summer day. This was the place I’d witnessed feats of greatness, saw raw talent blossom, where I’d met, and bonded with, a great number of people. These people, although we were all unseen to each other, formed a community. Almost a family of sorts, really.

As I familiarized myself, I became bolder. I had the gumption to contact (and continually “pester”) The unofficial MAN . I swallowed my pride to write what I considered awful poetry (although many disagreed with my consideration). I began contacting others outside the great hall. The bonds between us grew stronger.

It’s almost funny, really. I was accepted among a group of people I didn’t really know. But, in a way, I did know them.

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