Who am I?
Am I the child?
The lover?
The man?
The hater?
My life is a pure representation of my dreams.
But what if I am not as perfect as I think I am?
Are my nightmares a representation of my life, then?
And what if my life is based on a lie?
Am I holding the bird?
Or am I flying with it?
Am I digging my own anticipated grave
by dedicating my life to a fantasy?
Before my hand I hold the candle.
In my fingertips I find the key to live eternally.
I am the one whose ideas stay ethereal.
Unknown by the wise.
Unknown by the ignorant.
I am the one who dies within the limits of existance.
I am the one who is afraid to end his life like everyone else.
I am no one.
And at the time, I am everybody.
I am an human.