A placeholder.

   What I know is a fact - I am nothing but a mere souvenir that's only meant to be delivered to people who are nothing out of the ordinary. My purpose isn't really specified; neither by my myself, nor by a God or any other being that is supposedly superior to any creature on this planet. I am explicitly made for this one thing; to be delivered somewhere, to someone in any way possible, as fast as it is possible.
   It's not like I'm the only package in here; there are many others with the same purpose as mine, however they had been delivered long ago, even before I learned what should I do in my existence. When I found out, the thing that struck me the most was the feeling of loneliness and alienation that had been planted deeply within me the second everything came to light.
   At first, I didn't even notice anything at all - however, it grew on me day by day, month by month stretching it's thorns all around me, finally locking me up in a cage I was never meant to get out of. What a truly horrifying experience it was, I can't even express it.
   However, after months of trying, I finally managed to chop off it's roots off my feet and freed myself, after all this time being able to breathe easily, without any intimidation. Unfortunately, even though I was able to run away from the location everything took place in, I couldn't bare but feel diminished in some strange way, as if the roots' extraordinary height and glory wanted to extenuate the problem they caused and ridiculed me so that I won't remember anything; which is, in a way, pretty genius of them and, now that I think about it, I can't really take for granted that their intentions were truly evilish; maybe they weren't that bad afterall? Maybe I should've stayed there all locked up and safe? Maybe they were just protecting me so that if I were to ever get hurt, they would just parry the attack and kill my opponent? (if you really can call it my opponent, assuming that I wouldn't even know of any event happening at all, I guess a murderer per se).
   On my birthdays, the only thing I get, ironically, are other souvenirs that are meant to help others remember their truly astonishing moments in life. Then, why do they even bother and buy them in the first place, if they eventually give them to me? When will I get delievered? When will somebody gift me?
   Well, that's the thing - I am nobody's. It's not like anyone has any fond memories that I can help them remember. I am souless, empty - a vessel without owner. No real connection to anybody. I kneel before every other person I meet just so they notice me and make attachment. Sometimes they even do, however, just for a brief moment. Because here comes a new one. More interesting one.
   I am nothing but a placeholder.