Somebody's Nobody.

You know, it’s almost actually funny how one can fade into the background like a shadow on a cloudy day. It’s like you were never there but still leaving footprints in the sand without any water to wash them away.

They don’t notice you. But you notice them as the film of you sight plays with them being the actors. Star rolls hoping to become something bigger, something shinier. Something that meant someone.

On an average day I could sit on one of the many park benches running along the row of shops, and just take a movie seat to the world around me. Movement dances and colours blur into something interesting. I always seem to notice small things that mean so much more than what they really are; that people busy enough in reality don’t tend to see until it hits them square in the face.

Sometimes I wonder if they saw those things earlier, would they be less hurt, happier or more grateful? It’s hard to tell.

Watching people change is pretty close to watching the weather change over head. Personalities, styles, stereotypes; their so different yet very so much alike. I don’t think many people know the difference. Maybe most don’t bother to look past the cover of a book because their scared that it meant that they cared.

Everyday though, everyone changes. Kids grow up that you know which always makes me feel older than what I really am. Friends become closer and other friends drift apart heading their separate ways. Lovers come and go; some staying while others disappear forgotten. It makes me wonder why and when happiness ends for some people.

I even watch as the flowers in the parks grow, blossom and die – just like everything else in this world.

I see and watch all this plus more, but the people that brush by with minds only sighted on one thing don’t notice me. I am invisible to their world, nothing more than a nameless face. A nobody. As much as I don’t exist to them they exist to me; becoming the colours of movement I see every day that constantly changes.

I wonder if they ever stopped and looked around would they see it like I did, or would they take the first story their minds labels a person not caring to look further. It’s too easy to come up with a story but it’s rarely true. No one can be known by one glance – people have too many masks for that.

But I guess it was still something. And something was better than nothing.

I sit here on this bench with green paint flaking off also in my own world, but I choose to see everything. I rather see something out of nothing.