No one sees me anymore. That's okay with me. To them, I am nothing more than the remnants of a burrito gone bad in their stomachs, or perhaps too much vodka or sake. I wave my hands in front of their eyes and all they see is the latest app on their phone. The harder I wave and scream, the more they walk by. It used to not be like this. Once upon a time, or so the storybook says, I was a living person. Breathing, loving, crying human being. I woke up with the sun, did my life as I wanted to, and then closed my eyes as the moon sent me to sleep. I had a face, one that you probably wouldn't remember, and yet it was my face. My damn skin. Smooth and uninterrupted. Weak and supple. Willing to give in to every desire, every whim, every chance at a reminder that I could bleed.
Bleeding. Yes. I remember that as well.
The slow dull pain, followed by the flash of knowledge. Finally, the thin red bubbles forth and slides down, down, slowly. You watch in fascination, as I did so many times. You watch and you learn. My mind was open; I never wanted to say no. Why say no when you can take that next step? Yes . . .that's right. Drag it a little deeper now. Slower, my friend. Kiss me like the lover you wish you had.
The next day came with hazy memories and spots, yet I knew I was always still here. Still here, as the Wise Ones say. They do say that, don't they? Even they no longer see me, although they know I am near. Their blindness is by choice, however. They moved further than others and look where they are now. I want to laugh, really I do, but I think I've forgotten how.
You, the one who stopped and looked at me. Yes. You see me, don't you? Come closer. That's right. You want to know what I know. Knowledge; they make it to be so forbidden. I am here to tell you that it is not so. Just look at me and decide for yourself. You can see me, can't you?
Take my hand. Listen to me. Let me tell you a story of when the world forgot to dream. . . . .
(photos taken at Elmwood Cemetery, Memphis, Tennessee)