I never get to know who I am

I never truly know who I am.

I am like a… what? I do not know.

Even as I write, I contemplate,

Who am I?

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Everything has meaning — synonyms, antonyms,

But what am I?

What word best defines me?

Perhaps lost, a dreamer, a madwoman…

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Or is the word yet unwritten?

What role do I play in this vast tale?

What is it that I truly desire?

Are these desires my own,

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Or simply fleeting distractions of time?

Who shall I be known as?

And when I am gone,

What will the world whisper of me?

A skeptic, a mystery,

Or just another soul — ordinary, passing by?