My life
is a series of memories –
of mom in the kitchen,
of dad’s disappearance.
But they’re not real,
my memories.
All lies.
I wash away
like a sand castle
as the tide comes in,
leaving broken shells
and scattered seaweed.
Every story I’ve ever told
a myth,
a cloud drifting by.
Not a girl
who was born
and grew up
and can now die
of sadness for never
really being alive.