I am the unnoticed.
I am the clover growing under a rose bush.
The soft wisps of cloud above the tornado.
I am the rough draft, a light pencil sketch of the final picture that is on the next page.
I am the unnoticed.
Never belting the solo.
Always the shortest standing in the back of the soli.
Never achieving the dream of getting the lead.
Always blending into the background.
Only, when will this play end?