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Insignificance
It doesn't bother me that deep in my heart I know I won't be an accomplished author. I don't mind not being the best flute player in band or the most successful student in class. I do not weave lines of poetry into peoples hearts nor recite all the capitals of the 50 states of America from memory.
It doesn't bother me that I am not the best at some things. What does bother me is that I am not the best at anything. I am a wallpaper. An old and unoriginal design fading into background. I am worn thin and almost transparent, hardly noticeable.
There are flowers around me that bloom so vividly that their colors reach the stars and creates moonbeams. No one looks at me in such wonder. As if I plucked apart the atom of happiness, uncovering its deepest meanings.
I am nowhere near successful nor memorable. I fade so quickly from peoples' thoughts that there isn't even a twinge of recognition when they spot my face.
I am paper. Curling into the flames of faces, disappearing into the night sky of smoke, where the world is so large and endless, to spot me would be of the impossible.
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