"Who am I?" You ask.

I am the wind blown through the trees on a bitterly cold evening.

I am the shadow in the corner of the room, catching your eye for only a second.

I am the deja vu idea of something you feel like you're always forgetting.

I am nothingness yet I still appear before you.

Am I just your mind playing tricks, in an endless game of reality?

Or am I the myth of something not quite real, living in the limbo of life and death?