Thoughts in her head

He was behind her. She knew though she didn't turn around to look. To her he was just a presence, a dead weight, like a rock tied to a piece of thread. Sometimes she could hide. Sometimes it was all right. Why is it the memories we want to save slip away so fast, and the memories that haunt us never truly leave? It's never clear. Clear or pure. Life is a thick and dirty like gravel, like a mirky puddle. Nothing is the same.