Only one person in her entire life had ever told her that he knew who she really was with any conviction. Sure, her parents had said that very thing to her, but like the man in question, they, too, were wrong.
Her life, like many, was guided almost solely by her dreams. But her dreams changed. Every night, in fact. The similarities they often retained were still filled with subtle differences. Subtle changes, as if her dreams were the starry nights themselves. So how, with any conviction, could anyone possibly know her?
Where she lived has changed over the years. Over and over. Yet, in a manner as ironic as it is apt, only once has she consciously and deliberately picked the place she would make her home. The others, chosen for her. Worse, the one place she did choose quickly revealed itself as a mistake.
She had a plan in life, to be sure. And while her dreams have always remained, she knows now that she must ignore them. Failure has followed her for too long. Failure, following a person, following dreams. Perhaps failure is following the dreams, and not the person, who is merely in the way. For that, she can only hope.
Taking a deep breath, she glances one last time at the perceived light at the end of the tunnel. Closing her eyes, she turns around, and steps back into the neverending darkness from which she came.
Her dreams won't mind, for she will revisit them each and every night until she dies. Her dreams won't mind. After all, she was never even there. How could anyone have possibly known her?