I had to pull over—I couldn’t risk letting this slip away. These flashbacks keep crashing into me out of nowhere, and while they still feel scattered and incomplete, they’re getting sharper with every mile. It’s like the motion of riding shakes something loose, stirring up fragments of whatever’s left in my head. I don’t know how much will come back, but for now, even the smallest detail feels vital.
The first flash was vivid: a blue-iced birthday cake, the kind that screams childhood nostalgia. I could hear faint cheers in the background, muffled but warm, like echoes from a distant memory. Then came another: a gas station, dimly lit, surrounded by trees, sitting on a long, forgotten stretch of road. Both feel important, though I don’t know why yet.
And then there’s the ring. A woman’s ring, hidden in a small pocket inside the jacket. I’ve been staring at it on and off, watching the way the light dances off its surface, hoping it might spark something—a name, a face, anything. So far, nothing.
Who am I kidding? Maybe I’m grasping at straws, but it’s all I’ve got right now. And I’m not letting it go.
