The room was dark, air thick enough for my breath to catch. My feet were moving before I could even register the motion. There was an invisible force—a tether that was silently drawing me to the eleven screens. 

They sat in an anticlockwise circle. Snippets of a video on loop. Caught between the plexiglass of divinity and refuge. 

There was a hum. Low. Unassuming. Static. A small buzz that hummed through my ears. A melodic spell washed over me, travelling through a set of memories I wasn’t prepared to revisit. 

The buzz grew louder. Sharper. Until they turned into cries. The kind that rip so deep from within your chest that your knees buckle. A pain that can only come from the loss of someone you love. 

I don’t remember how long I stood in front of those screens. I was transfixed by something I couldn’t quite name. My mind began to wander through a labyrinth of pressure and anxiety, seeking for something to cling to. 

I was waiting for something to pull me in. For the screens to split open and coax me to step into a time when I didn’t feel the walls closing in. When I didn’t feel the need to have my entire life figured out. When my next steps didn’t feel so daunting. 

Back to a time when the safety blanket was still warm. Back to a time when the threads were delicately braided to withstand any force threatening to break it. Back to a time when she was sitting in her chair with a smile that could calm the bravest of storms.