Lemon custard, boysenberry, cucumber petit sandwich, chocolate biscuits. All words with no meaning. Attached to the women surrounding me who consume them without thought. Their curves pay them no mind. The others who were born slender and fine. I wonder if any of them realize it took me two hours to get out of bed this morning. The red dress adorned on me sits in a way that covers most of my flaws. But my face exposes the ones that run even deeper. They say to keep moving. They say to continue living. But how can you live if you are already dead.

Not only my mind but my soul. I died two years ago in the forest. No one came looking but no one was suspicious. I exist now in their minds, being summoned when they need an extra person at the party table or another “friend” that must be gifted an absurdly expensive dress to receive one even more absurdly expensive. I guess this endless loop will never cease to exist.