I am but a specter—
An apparition, immaterial and gauzy,
Gossamer and ghostly,
Hardly even there.

When I leave,
They do not notice.

When I stay,
They do not notice.

I am as the pleasant music,
Playing in the background.
Enjoyed when present, seldom missed
When all that fills the silence is
Their voices, chattering like birds
Above the sea, without me.

I am as the cheerful actress,
Seen but never known.
I say my lines without a flaw
Unbelievably real, so the audience
Believes that they know my soul,
The marrow of my bones and the essence
Of what my heart pumps through my veins,
But the things they know are as curated
As these words upon the page.