Part 2: Never Noticed

I’m never here anymore, not really. I’ll smile. I’ll talk but I’m never really there in that moment we’re in.

I’m dead, and you don’t know you’re talking to a hollow corpse. I’ve died inside and can’t feel a thing. I go about doing whatever it is that I used to do.

So normal. What is normal anyway?

Is it normal to be so unfeeling? Is it normal to be so uncaring of anything?

I don’t know what normalcy is but I continue to do what I think I’ve always done – I don’t really remember.

I’m on auto-pilot. Letting my feet take me to the places I have to be. I allow my muscle memory to do the things I don’t remember why I have to do. I’ve become a walking, talking, partially living dead.

Ah, I finally know what I am… but do you?

Do you notice my blank looks and automated responses? Maybe you don’t, I don’t blame you because it took me awhile to too.

I didn’t notice when my wrists were weeping the tears I couldn’t. I didn’t notice when my hands stopped purging my feelings with ink on paper. I didn’t notice when my body had become accustomed to surviving off of only coffee. I didn’t notice when the sky changed colours with the rising sun.

So how was I supposed to have noticed when my feet walked on cool concrete and the wind slapped my face with my hair? How was I supposed to have noticed that I was staring down at what could become my death?

And how was I supposed to have noticed that I had walked off the edge of the earth and left you all behind?