I was shrinking in stature, less important each day, dissolving back into the earth from whence I had emerged eons ago. My bodily form was simplifying to fit my current needs; opposing heads to justify the rambling conversations I had with myself, two hands to play the fool and one foot to hop from desire to disaster.

Life was impossibly beautiful and then it was just impossible. My skin hardened to meet the daily grind until it formed a carapace to protect me from hurt. I was almost a caricature of myself, part of a nomenclature that was yet to be determined and a member of an unclassifiable family.

I was an insect, so what? There were plenty of them around and I finally felt at home in the dank soil and drudgery of life. I was one of many and I had a job to do. So I busied myself at my life’s work, rolling up my possessions into large balls and pushing them towards the future.

Who would have imagined that I was happy? Certainly not I, that craven creature of blood and air. I sat on my pile of things and tried to remember when love burned like a cool flame and warm flesh slept next to mine. The day was long but not long enough.