Identity

‘PASSPORTS!’
We looked up, clutching our identity; the cover of mine was faded. Faded like my blue t-shirt left out too long on the washing line in the southern sun. Faded because everything fades: Fading t-shirts, fading memories, fading empires. Losing colour, growing dim, disappearing. My passport was checked. I was moved on. As yet my privileges in this world hadn’t faded.