I’ve been living in this skin so long it feels hard to shed.
Yet it slides right off me.
I’m like a perfume.
A passing smell,
a memory, …
even when I’m still here.
Permanently temporary with nothing to anchor me down.
I’m a good party, a warm summer drink...
That thing in the tip of your tongue you just can’t name.
A song you can only recall the chorus to.
An echo. A déjà vu.
...Both bittersweet and irrelevant.
A feather in the wind.