ina

The effort manifests as fog, clouding my glasses. I don't know why I'm doing this—waking up, brushing my teeth but it still tastes stale, putting on fresh clothes that never seem to warm me, shoes on but I can hardly see my feet, I take the seat on the metro and someone sits right through me. Some can still see me. They know what I am. They mock my persistent struggle to prove I belong.

I'm so glad I get to live in a world where there are Octobers, aren't you? 🍂🍁