I aligned my pace to the crowd.
I fit in.
It seemed like I had finally found the right lubricant to squeeze into the system I was previously unaware of.
It calmed me, being part of the tide, I rippled and swayed with them.
I would live by them now.
Die by them.

Yet no matter where I went I always had an itching.
An itching that I would lose them.
So I lost me.
So I could keep them.

Soon I was them, and they were me.
The placid rooftop they provided was nice.
The support they gave was good.
The foundation I had laid my very soul upon was well intended.

Not grand, nor regal.
But nice.
Not beyond, or captivating.
But good.
Not lovely, or awe inspiring.
But well intended.

Not what I would like.
But who was I?
I was them.
And they liked it.