I live in this world and out of my body.

When I speak the words slip from me as if being carried away by the wind.

I look in the mirror and I don't truly know what I see.

It's me, but it's also not me. It's all the people who came before me too.

Will there be many after me? Will they look like me, talk like me, or think like me?

Reality is something I think about often.

If I'm alive then surely it must all be real,
right?