The Blank

There is a period after crying when everything ceases to exist and any memory remaining is either fabricated or forgotten. It is as if all the sadness and anguish drain out your consciousness, letting the subconscious take over, and a dream starts and ends before you can even begin to remember it.
The dream can last a moment and forever.

It's strange, but when you're not thinking of anything, all the senses seem to grow stronger, and you become aware of the little things around you. The ticking of the clock becomes louder. The dripping tap joins the hand of the clock, an imbalanced rhythm. The wall is a dim orange, lit up by the dying light bulb, a stuck sunset. The tears that are still left on your face, too tired to be removed, pinching your cheeks as they dry.

The only thing I can't remember are my thoughts. What was I thinking of? Was I even thinking anything? I feel like my memories are just stolen from me, scooped out, leaving little dents in my train of thought. I'm left playing fill-in-the-blanks by myself.

Sometimes, when I regain my consciousness, I become scared. It's like some godly figure just pressed the pause button on my life, and when it starts playing again, I become disorientated and realise nothing and everything just happened, but I can't remember what. Only that I was staring at a wall, which was as blank as my mind.