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….

Crying alone…

Feigning happiness…

Talking to dolls…

Longing in a place without time for friends.

I am Mary.