I am composed of several parts: compassion, volatility, tenderness, timidity, violence, confusion—but of all these, the biggest is the ability to be forgotten.

I am forged with a good enough face to command attention then and there, but at the end of the night it will not be me you remember but another. I will be the half-uttered name on your tongue, trailing off into silence because you cannot grasp at it.

I am constructed with gestures to pull your attention to me, standing out for that moment in time. I will draw you to me like moth to a flame, but upon closer inspection you will find me to be nothing extraordinary, nothing spectacular, nothing special in particular. I will fade from your mind painlessly for I am not made to induce heartache.
I am blessed with a voice like silk, comforting and soothing whatever pains and sores you have. I will captivate you like a siren’s song without drawing you to your death because it is not my voice you will remember in your dreams. It is not my voice that will be your nightly lullaby. I will slip from your fingers, your ears, your heart, your very soul like smoke.

I am built to fade, to be left behind, and to be thrown away. I am a one-use-only type of deal but when one has lived such a life for so long, one tends to embrace it. It is my cross to carry and I will bear until my knees buckle below me.

I am past recollection.
I am consigned to oblivion.
I am forgotten.