“I am alive and will return soon.”
I was born, and then I died. It was but a moment to the world; the world took no notice. And so I sought to be born once more, that I might be noticed. For, like most people, all I wanted was to be seen, if only for a moment.
To reconstruct my life was not what I wanted. Reconstruction was the wrong word, implying rubble, the piecing together of a sad approximation from the remnants of something better. Not reconstruction—recreation. Something new, but the same. Something fresh and alive, redolent not of the past but of my desire for what the past might have been.
But it was not to be. And…