I've always been told I was going somewhere.
But we're all going somewhere.
And that I was going to be somebody...
But we're all somebody...
And I've always been told that I'm special.
But I think we're all special...in the sense that special means we're all not the same.
However, I know what these people mean...and I wish I could see what they see and think what they think about myself...
But it's as if all the hard evidence I've ever been faced with says the complete opposite. That I'm nobody, not really going anywhere, who doesn't stand out.
I've been known to disappear.
People have even thought I was dead...
I'm just a ghost...who floats in and out of people's lives.
Whether I make a difference, I'm unsure because I don't stay long enough to see if I've been an influence.
I can only imagine.
And the things I imagine are always going to be more fantastic than reality.
That's just the way the imagination works.
I've never been one to stand out in a room, amongst a crowd.
I'm not that person that people flock to.
That people strive to befriend or aspire to become.
I don't tend to grab attention or affection.
I just don't seem to matter much to people.
Because as easily as I go away...I'm equally as easily forgotten.
No one seeks me out, after a disappearing act.
And if I were to really go missing...
With no one searching, I would never be found.
So what sets me apart from every other living, breathing person?
And in a morgue, what would make me different than any other cold, stiff corpse?
And in the ground, what would make my gravestone stand out from the rows upon rows of other forgotten souls?
