#thinking constantly

anyone else thinking about rosemary on this monday afternoon

It's hard sometimes, hard knowing exactly what you mean to people. I mean how you could make up someone's whole world and then end of you would be the end of anything good and caring in their lives. But then there's certain people, friends, strangers even, where you don't even matter at all, you're nothing, not even a spec on someone's well maintained life. Not even if they're life is that maintained, it's just you don't matter. It's basically the equivalent of a person you make slight contact with on a train, just a moment, a glimpse of you in their sight, a moment of recognition that you are, in fact there, but then they continue to look around the rest of the carriage and soon they've reached their stop and they get off, then you, becoming lost in a sea of faces they once saw in public. Maybe to make an appearance in a dream because they need to fill the void of unknown faces to live out their fantasies. It's hard. Knowing that at any moment you could become someone's light, their guide to all things great and then as fast a bullet, you become a spec, a memory of something that use to be, and then could not even care less that you were once everything to them. You've just become a person in the crowd, a story to tell people about how you use to be friends, or lovers, or something just more. But then you continue in the void of memories never to be thought of, just remembered. It's hard.