The people who make my bareable, worth it and happy, don't even seem to know I exist. Yes, they know my name, yes they talk to me, but at the end of the day I'm just the random girl who hangs around with them every once and a while. If they ever retold a story about something I did, they'd never remember that it was me. It'd me 'some girl' or 'my friend' because it didn't matter to them who did it. Because they don't think of me. The only time I'm ever on their thoughts, is when they're talking to me. As soon as their done, I'm done, over with, old news. Not very fun.