51. When I Play Your Games

I touch you on the shoulder in greeting. You don’t take note of me beyond a cursory nod.

Photons bounce off of me. You look through me.

With the folds of mucous membrane in my throat I vibrate the air. You don’t hear me, not that you’d listen.

When I sit down beside you, you move to another bench.

When I tentatively reach out my hand, you roll up the window.

When I sneeze, you don’t say, “Bless you.”

The things that interest me do not interest you.

You don’t return my calls.

When I eat, you wonder where the last slice of bread has gotten to.

When I go on trips, I come back from them. You stay here for the duration. You don’t notice that I’m gone and you aren’t surprised when I return.

When I die, you change the channel.

I will stop playing your games.

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