i slip into the silhouette of every person i pass.
sometimes i am a young girl sipping coffee filled with one too many packets of sugar and regrets i can imagine so vividly but somehow have not happened yet. sometimes i am an old man with wisdom bubbling over out of my skin but no ears quite wide enough to hear it and no voice quite strong enough to bellow through the cracks.
on my lips i can taste every first and last and in-between that will never be held tightly enough. the soles of my feet ache from desperation or determination or some mixture of the two that feels both pure and impure at that same time.
i expand over dreary sidewalks and half-filled classrooms and colorful kitchen tablecloths. it is difficult to remember who i am when i am so many. my mind or one of these minds wants to forget.
i dilute myself over these landscapes because i am afraid of taking any space.
i fold myself into these bodies because i am afraid of living any life.