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There’s a Phantom Limb Where Memory Used to Be
Search. Swipe. Forget. Welcome to “The Modern Experience of Cognitive Surrender”
MORNING: At Lost In Childhood Streets
It started with a wrong turn.
I was biking to my mother’s house to feed the dog. She was on a trip, so I thought it was a good excuse to spend some time in my old desk for some inspiration. So there I was, pedaling through the same cracked pavement decorated with the same peeling street signs I grew up with. A place my body should’ve known blindfolded.
But for a second — a long, sour second — I couldn’t remember which way was home.
I stopped cold. The street names blurred into noise. The bakery on the corner — gone. The shortcut through the empty lot — erased.
My head turned left, then right, then left again, my mind searching through blank shelves.
Nothing.
Only the low hum of cars passing by and the sharp edge of panic pressing against my ribs.
How could I not know?
Without thinking, I reached for my phone. Thumb flick, screen glow, map loading.
