I spend a lot of time alone with my thoughts. Some people would call me borderline antisocial, but I just can't stand the world we live in. There's so much immorality, so many lies. I prefer the company of my own self, most of the time.
The rain obscures the view outside the window. I cannot tell what it looks like, although I see the same thing outside every day. It is a familiar window, however, it is impossible to tell what it is now.
I sit down and think about the past. Like the rain in the window, it too has been obscured to nearly oblivion. I peek through specific memories, and the same person appears, over and over again.
Always sitting on the edge of his chair, or standing by the door; on the verge of leaving, but wanting to stay to see how things turn out. He's always in the shadows, trying his best never to be seen. But he feels the same - does that make any sense? I would be able to tell who he was if I met him.
And he's always, always, in a crowd.
The line between reality has been blurred. Once that line has been blurred, there is almost no way back.
I love it, but I hate not being able to tell if it's real or fake. I cry sometimes, and other days I don't feel anything at all. It's not a wonderful feeling, not being able to tell what is real and what is fake anymore, but at least I'm remembering something.
Something.
The rain continues to fall, and I hear the melody of a long lost song snaking its way through my ears.
It would appear that there is another memory I have discovered.