I wonder if all the people I ever touched think of me
And I wonder if those thoughts ever actually resemble who I am.
Do I even know what that is?
Not really.
I've set hearts on fire
And breathed air into so many lungs
And I wonder if the way they live their life now is at all attached to even a small memory of what I felt like.

Why am I so obsessed with making sure I disappear into whatever I can find out there.

I don't even like you.