No Refunds

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Who am I? What am I? Where has my spirit gone to?

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Desperation and anger have me banging at your shopkeeper's door. I have no receipt and the loud bold letters on the door declare that there are no refunds or exchanges but I am persistent. I am screaming, and my voice has been scrubbed so raw it sounds more like a labored croak. I can see you standing behind the impenetrable glass, pretending not to see me. Give me back my life, my heart, that kiss, that first embrace, that first union of our sweaty young bodies breaking their innocence. Please, give it all back to me.

 

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