Fading and ForgottenMature

Time after time, I feel myself fading away into nothingness.  I see it; my presence sliding away, unnoticed, to break apart in shadows.  

And no one spares even a glance.

So, what do I do?

I write.

I write because it gives me purpose.  When I write, I matter.  When my reality starts to crumble, I escape into words.  I create people, plots, places, just so they can comfort me when no one else will.  

Am I so easy to forget?  Am I really as insignificant as I believe?

The End

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