Grey Sweats

I like to wear sweat pants in autumn. A nice pair goes a long way, and the ones I wear always make me feel the best. Especially as I walk down the sidewalk in the nippy air, watching the vibrant hues of trees ready to shed their leaves. Some had already done so, and the leaves were swept into neat piles by the main road. Throughout the day, people would walk past them and disturb the immaculate pile that sat unnoticed beside them.

I enjoyed watching the people that walked by.

Thigh boots. Skinny jeans. Sweater vests. Knitted scarves. I like to see everyone in the ambers, the crimsons, the earthy browns--the cascading colors that carefully wrapped our naked, aging bodies. People watching, with the outfits and the colors, was a very entertaining past time for me. I like watching. But something told me I wasn't one to participate. And I never will have the chance to, anyways.

Unfortunately, I died a month ago. The sweats I still wore from that tragic day was the outfit I'd spend eternity in. I've accepted it, quite quickly actually. There's not a whole lot to consider when the option has already been taken out of your hands. I appreciate that. Not having to spend too much time worrying about how you look, how you walk, how you talk. To some degree, I finally have relief.

However, moving on was an entirely different problem. I walked down the sidewalk, passing by the coffee shops. My nostrils filled with pumpkin spice. I missed that smell, the taste too. There are some disadvantages to being dead, especially in autumn. I sighed. I forgot what a pumpkin spice latte tasted like. That was more frustrating than I anticipated. But, among all the other frustrating things I have encountered, I liked how simple that felt.

My name? Forgot it. My parents? Don't know them. My past? Who knows. But the most exhausting thing plauging me constantly, to no avail, was how did I die?

Wandering, ironically enough, helps me find the memory I have lost. The pumpkin spice. The people dressed in shades of sunset. My reflection in the windows. I hoped that as the winds of chance pulled me and my aimless wandering continued maybe I could find out all the answers I craved.

But until then, I was content to settle for the people watching. By far the most enjoyable moments are when I see the shocked look of people that pass through me. Something told me they must have been cold. But that was mostly because nobody wore sweats. Sweats are so comfortable in autumn. They are my favorite thing to wear, even as I walk lonely in the bustling sidewalk.

Sometimes I doubted--was I really dead? Probably, I would always decide. I was unsure what this level of invisibility meant otherwise. I wasn't hungry. Wasn't thirsty. Didn't feel tired in the slightest. I just felt empty. And I missed what it meant to be a part of the lively people that walked briskly around me.

I was like the pile of leaves, sitting next to the road. Dead. Unnoticed. Empty. As I lay down next to them, I was surprised at my dismay when I wished I was wearing something more colorful than grey sweats.