I sometimes feel myself becoming less of who I was. I watch the parts of myself that I used to love drift away. I watch them as they twirl in the wind and blow away, flittering on to new tomorrows. I try to hold their memory clear. I try to find them, deep in my brain. Success is seldom. 

My memories deteriorate like old buildings. I watch the paint on the windown panes chip. I watch the glass droop as gravity wears down on it. I hear the wind roll through the doors, with every gust sweeping away more life than the last. A draft leaks through cracks in the floor. I can smell the wood rot beneath me. The walls begin to sag. A happy time that was once fresh and cherished is now old and unwanted. The faces that I once knew are now unfamiliar. The friends that I once had are now strangers.

I watch my skin sag, like the walls. The bags under my eyes droop, like the glass. My hair becomes dry. I feel my insides grow old. The body I once had has now become something I never thought it could be. My face looks like someone I thought I knew, but it is worn. I am worn.