reflections of a sound

Everything I say is meaningless.

It’s not really a shocking realization, or even a painful one any more.  I am of no importance to the rest of the world.  And now I know it.  Wrapped in a comfortable blanket of anonymity, I slip past the notice of the thousands and thousands of people around me.  Who am I to them, but another nuisance, another person in their way?

I thought it would be liberating.  To be away from all the people who’ve known me since birth.  Who knew my family for generations.  Who knew more about me than I did.  To some extent, it is.  And yet, I wish now more than ever that there was someone, somewhere that I could trust, that I could just talk to.

But what the fuck do I know, right?