A/n: I was feeling particularly hopeless one day, and my ever-present notebook just happened to be open to a blank page. Pencil in hand, I started to write. This is the result. Tell me what you think.

Illusions of Grandeur.

Sometimes I wonder,

Why am I here?

Who am I?

Who am I supposed to be?

Would the world be any different,

If I up and dissapered?

Or, if I just didn't exist at all?

Or, somewhere down the line,

Will I touch someone's life,

Will I influence a thought,

A decision?

Will someone look to me for guidance?

Will I be someone?

Or are these just illusions of grandeur?

Do I dare to dream?

To hope?

That one-day, somehow,

I can touch someone's life,

Who will touch someone's life,

Who will somehow change the world?

Whose life means something?

Who is important?

And who decides?

Will I be remembered?

Or will I be just another number,

A nameless face fading from memory,

Vanishing into the crowd,

My footsteps disappearing in the tide?

I want to matter.

I want to help.

I just don't know how.

I'm nothing special,

Nothing more,

Then a Midwestern girl,

With illusions of grandeur.