Finally Fading Away

Pain can be the only thing to let you know you’re still alive…sometimes I wonder if I was even born at all. I know I had to have been born. I breath, I eat, I even sleep and wake up the next morning. But every now and then I wonder if I really exist. I’ve never felt real. I’ve always felt like an idea, a fleeting little wisp who’s never quite there. People look at me, and it feels as if they don’t quite see me standing right in front of them. They say things and the words vanish. And every now and then I think I disappear. I just dissipate. Better yet, I evaporate, like a puddle of water on hot pavement. But now I feel as if, one day soon, I’ll just cease to exist all together. One morning, a morning that felt like a glitch in a timeline I could never be part of, I floated down to the living room. That’s when I first noticed the changes. I couldn’t see any pictures of me. Not that I’d seen any before, but surely my mother and my father had to have some. I was their child, their reason for living and all that. But I didn’t see anything. A stranger could walk in and have no idea they’d ever even had me. Had it always been that way? When my mother walked into the room, her stance was firm. Gravity and her feet nailed her to the ground. I hated her. I wanted to be able to do that, and not feel like I was falling all the time. I expected some sort of greeting. But I never got it. I called her name. She looked at me, blankly. It was like she was seeing me for the first time. I could almost see the shock, the horror, in her eyes. She didn’t even know me. Then, she blinked and her face was an icy slate. She passed through me, her solid body finding its way over me. She left. She walked out the door. I never saw her come back again. I don’t know if she ever did. I wonder if she remembers me, even the fragment of my presence. I wonder if she can look back and think of a ghost who might have existed once, and might very well have not. I could feel myself becoming extinct. I went through the house, looking for something that could confirm me, and who I was. I went to my room. It didn’t look special. It looked like a regular guest bedroom, nothing to say that I’d ever slept there, or played on the carpet when I was young, or had my first kiss by the window. It was empty, memory was just a word. It held no meaning or structure. It had to have happened. I know it did. I lived once, didn’t I? I turned and looked around. But I couldn’t see anything that spoke to me, calling my name in longing. My name, what was my name? I didn’t know. I had one, didn’t I? Everyone had a name. I looked at my fingers, and saw nothing. I looked at my legs, and saw nothing. I went to the mirror. And saw nothing. The last thing I can remember going through, what I suppose would be my mind, was to wish for pain. To hunger for it. Just so I could know that I used to be something. So when the air passes next to you, look for me, would you? It’s been lonely, and I wouldn’t mind the conversation.