From a shadow's desk

Courtesy: Dvs (licensed under Creative Commons)
You go to the beach. So do I. Glad for the sunshine. Unlike you, I die everyday. Sometimes more than once a day. Rebirth isn't painful though. It's almost inconspicuous. Wherever you go, I follow. When you pause, I look up at you, wondering if you notice that I'm there. I marvel at the detailing in your face and wish I had that too. It's lonely out here on the ground. When you were a child, you'd talk to me, play with me. We were friends. What changed? Why has adulthood changed you so? Sometimes I wonder if I'll get to be a real person once you die. Yes, your death will be my liberation. But I can never transcend this lifetime until then -reborn though I am every time the sun peeps out. Sometimes I cross paths with my non-human cousins. The dark selves of trees and animals. And even inanimate objects. We exchange the strangest of stories. A tree's shadow told me of a child who outlined the entire shape and then coloured it with crayons, making her feel almost like a real tree. Almost as good and worthy. I wish that might happen to me too. A little colour would be nice. Do you know, sometimes when you sleep, I defy the laws of science and dance across the walls like a drunken loon. Once, you were about to wake up while I was doing that. I nearly died (for real I mean) that day. Imagine walking into the sun and finding no shadow self to tail you and keep you company. Imagine if I wasn't there. Maybe you'd notice me then.