MY HEAD IS A PUMPKIN
I have no past. It's today and a soon-to-be pine box nap. Every person I knew is a distant memory. Every action I have done, good and bad, is forgotten. Every person I meet today wants to talk about their nostalgia. I have nothing to say.
I express myself to a collective "W-W-what?" I quack like a duck without echo. Endlessly explaining myself, the conversation dies. If there is a cell phone in hand, I might as well be out of the room. As a human being, I am frivolous to all.
What I do have to offer is a curiosity in a world of the un-curious. The best I can do is "cute", the one application of dismissal that serves as a compliment. Not attached to anyone or anything has a certain freedom, only it's incredibly lonely. Occasionally I connect with someone, occasionally. No one is interested. I can't solve their problem or immediately do something for them, they move on. Women are just plain frightened of the sight of me. Daddy issues reign supreme in this society.
I am smoke. Their words disturb me but go right through me. I walk through a crowd and only leave a scent. No one can touch me. My words dissipate before reaching another's ear.
My past is smoke, unretrievable.
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