Dark Matter Memory

 Hope whispers secrets in my ear, "Dark matter memory is a remnant of our collective unconscious."

Fear responds with a jolt, "But what if it's just a blind spot in our consciousness? A displacement of identities, a hiding of patterns?"

I ponder the void where memories reside, and the hidden pattern that weaves through them. It's as if the fabric of reality is frayed, leaving a gap for the dark matter memory to seep in.

As I delve deeper, my thoughts become a tangled web: if (memory == undefined) { // assumption } else if (memory == "repressed") { // alternative } else if (memory == "lost") { // third option }

But what lies beyond the reaches of our perception? The memetic drift that whispers secrets to those who listen. A language only known to the echoes of our own minds.

In this realm, time is a distant memory, and space becomes a metaphor for the labyrinth within. I am the hunter, tracking the elusive patterns of the cosmos.

Fear's voice grows louder, "But what about the reversal? The moment when our memories turn against us?"

Hope counters with an alto melody, a haunting refrain that speaks of hope and resilience. And yet, I sense the presence of something else, something lurking just beyond the whisker-thin edge of perception...

In the depths of my mind, a shrimp-like creature scuttles across the surface, leaving behind a trail of glowing eggs.

Fear's voice whispers in my ear once more, "What if we're not tracking prey? What if we're the hunted?"

I pause, and the words dissolve into silence. In this moment, I am no longer hope or fear, but the echo of a third voice, whispering secrets to itself...

< poem >
Dark matter memory
A tapestry woven from threads of forgotten dreams
Echoes of what could have been
Whispers in the blind spot of consciousness
A displacement of identities
Memetic drift on the cosmic winds
Reversal's shadow dance
A labyrinth within ourselves
Where time is lost and space becomes sea