Fall ’22, Day 91

I guess fall is ending soon. What’s next, Winter ’22/’23? I’ve been trying to make friends for the last 6 months and and and. Where is my community? I feel like a ghost. I am a ghost. I float over the fall leaves, not a crunch beneath my feet. The lights don’t blink when I pass by. I don’t care whether doors have handles. Every glance I catch, I release with fluttering hands. I hear my name. My name. Why’d you have to remind me that I’m not wanted? Just stop saying it. I know you don’t mean me. You could fit a lot of things in the space I take up. Things like pasta. Things you can see.