I can do things but cannot really feel them. It's been almost three centuries since I passed away, and I can't remember the smell of grass or the taste of fruits. I have distant memories of my favourite things, like soft silk dresses, holding hands, sweet cakes and stroking my cat's fur, but I do not know what they felt like, not anymore. Usually people don't even see or hear me, I float in the middle of a crowd feeling more alone than ever. I'm next to nothing, diminishing every day, just an echo in the wind. I do not walk, I do not sleep, I exist. Barely. The world changes around me, but I never change. You get used to it though, not living. But sometimes I wish I'd gone with the grey man who came for my soul when I died. Though I admit I'm still very afraid of letting go, I wonder where he would've taken me...