It’s as though nothing had existed before. There was nothing, and then you were sputtered onto the sand, face down, naked.
A trail of footprints accumulated as you walked across the sand, but these cannot be yours. You don’t make any crease or fold in your existence. Instead, you float atop it, like water sitting on acetate.
Someone wrapped cellophane around your brain, cutting off circulation to the rest of your body. They don’t often talk to one another nowadays. Two separate existences.