I hate the feeling of transience. 

I hate being able to so quickly erase myself from a space, and appear here as if I had never existed before this moment, as if I could vanish immediately after. 

I hate that I could be anyone, or no one at all,

I could shut down and burn to ash, 

for here, I have yet to truly be, 

and there, they only remember, 

so who would see? 

I hate the feeling of floating.

I hate that I could completely fall away from myself,

become something I never could have thought to fathom,

and the only one who would know would be me. 

And I am prone to forgetfulness. 

What do such things make of a person? 

How quickly can one person turn into another, if there is absolutely nothing tying them to a former self? 

Even a self from only yesterday? 

How is it that a person could be so amorphous, so nonexistent, so close to the state of vapor? 

How is it that reinvention seems so nice, until it becomes clear that the step before invention is nothingness?