Running down a long hall, all of the many doors on the left and right are open. A warm light glows from those on the left, a harsh white blue light blares from those on the right,

The people in the rooms yell to her "Come. Visit us, we miss you." Yet she keeps running: faster and faster. Looking for the one room that is missing, the door on the left.

The door has never been there, but she longs for it. She knows that the door should be there. She looks, hoping that it will be there this time, that maybe she has missed it on all of her many trips here.

Her legs give our, and she falls to the ground exhausted and frustrated at her failure. She lets her body go limp on the soft floor. Her eyes shut tightly and she clenches her fist, her palms cut by her nails.

She is looking for the memory. The memory that should be there. The one that is never there, that never will be there.