And really its just the same old shit.
I feel so void. Voided. Null.
How can I judge my life? Based on the mark I made? Make? Am making?
I made no mark. The more I think about it, the more I have to tell myself that I was the one picked once, just to not feel like the most royal of fools. Just to make myself think that I wasn't wrong all along. But, then I think, what small percentage of the life I knew was ever even real? What little bit didn't have this background? I don't even know, I am sure it's less than I can ever imagine.
I built my world on a bed of straw.
A world where I made no difference. Contributed nothing. I was a cut out, pasted in for scenery.
There are parts I don't know how to mend. I miss the things you did. They weren't mine, I did nothing.
I was so proud of you. So in love. Beaming and glowing and swollen. Was that the only reason I was around? If I had offered more, meant more, done more...If I hadn't been such a zero, maybe...
I was so invested, in everything, I was background, so easily forgotten.
I don't know how not to miss the things you do, they were my world, and I loved them. Now I am not sure how to love anything else. I don't have a heart anymore. I gave it away to someone who didn't take very good care of it. Never even wanted it.
And it was the only one I had.
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