And I cannot help but wonder when they all stopped seeing me. I did not notice the way their eyes stopped reflecting my image when I spoke to them. I never felt a thing. I really only fully become aware of my lack of existence when I had fully vanished. The fact that I was real, but only on the surface was inescapable. The worst ascpect was my inability to even calculate exactly where I miss-stepped and started down the way towards my own demise. Because it is truly excruciating to live without being anyone. To simply only exist as a filler for a gap left in humanity. Perhaps no one is really anyone at all. Perhaps only those who are gruesomely aware see their own shell dancing about as if they were the ones who chose the criteria and the circumstances of the world they were gifted with. The unparalleled screaming of one's own hollowness to be filled. It is how we go about filling ourselves that truly creates us. Every drop of good and bad I poured inside to fill my emptiness transformed me into what I am.
I suppose these cold gray stones imprisoning me, and the dark gloved hands grasping for me are all of my own doing. My fumbling hands seeking anwsers in the dark seem to have found comfort at the time in deciding to lead me here.
It is really here in the shivering stillness that I realize maybe it was all for nothing. That every moment of my existence including including this one was a waste. I had set out long ago to find myself but perhaps there never really was a me to find.