See, I held out hope for so long that I was unique and special. But the truth was, I was just another page with all the same black type on a white page. The words said about me were the same as the ones on the page before, the one after, and the one after that. The ink stains rub off on your fingers and you wash my words down the sink, as important as the dirt under your nails and as essential as the sand in your eyes.

Photo - S
Words - S