i am a museum of my own creation. the parts of myself exhibited to the public are moulded, polished, photographed, whilst the rest of me lays dusty and forgotten.
how can anyone ever truly know me when i am only a moment, a picture, a fleeting idea encapsulated as a whole?
but none of it is real. and if it's all falsehood, then what am I?
in a world surrounded by people, you are entirely alone.