I am a painting.
An illusion of a happy girl, on a canvas.
I am a creation without its creator, walking around aimlessly, hoping to find a dream,
A dream that will be mine, and mine only, to fantasize and contemplate about until I've completed it.
I am simply another small nothing in this world, a small nothing that does not have a voice, and cannot move. I am not human.
I've realized that by now. I am simply paper.
The line between 'Me' and 'Human' is so thin and delicate. Yet somehow, even though I must be stronger than that mere, simple line, I cannot cross it.
I am lonely.
I am a canvas with colors mixed onto it.
I am a creation that wanders these hallways,
Searching for a purpose….
Talking to dolls…
Longing in a place without time for friends.
I am Mary.