Walking slowly into another world

I was never going back. Why should I? There wasn't anything left besides the shadows and a frightening memory of what could have been. I was thinking about nothing, as if it existed. That it would come to life the moment I turned around and considered the possibility of not forgetting. How could I forget? How could I not forget?
Maybe it was impossible to run away from those memories, but I had to try. Deep down I knew that if they never went away, if they continued to haunt my mind forever, I would still manage somehow.
I was all alone and I was happier than ever. The screams of the forgotten were silenced, the cries of those who refused to forget were no longer important. Still, I wasn't able to tune out the voices of they who returned. I saw them in my sleep, I heard them when I was awake. I tried to ignore the tormented sounds that regularly filled my existence with panic, and I hoped that someday I would succeed. Until then, I had to fight. Fight for who I had become, fight to never again be the person I once was.
Because I was never, ever going back.