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There was a time I was somebody; now I have no substance.

People look through me as if I am made of air. Sometimes they wonder what has brushed their arm, or they shiver as if a tingle ran up their spine. They don’t notice the spectral figure that wanders the borderlands, searching for a mate.

I imagine myself lifeless, somewhere in the distance, sitting just beyond reality, out of reach of all but the spirits. A mist hangs over me, thick and lifeless. My movements are dull and stiff, slow like running underwater.

I haven’t been seen for days, but if you look closely I am always there, standing in the shadows, hanging onto the edges of things, standing with my back against the wall.

Some said there would be nothing; some said it would come in a blinding flash of light. They didn’t describe the shackles as tight as an air lock that tether me to the earth.

My feet fall heavy and my mind is lead. There is nothing to think of, nothing to share, only the bleak mist of confusion, hankering for solidity; between life and death.