I won't tell you my name, because that's not important. And I won't tell you my age, or my appearance, or my gender, because that's not important either.
You might have seen me once, or maybe more than once. Most of you have. I know that for sure.
Not that most you would have noticed me if you did; that's kind of my job, my point. To hover in the background as you hurry past, wrapped up in your busy, self-centered lives. You've probably seen me, along with all the rest of those who were around as you focused on getting to Point A, whatever that may be, to Point B.
It's what I do. Not really anything important, but it's a job nonetheless. Because those of you who do see me hardly spare more than a half second's passing glance, but I stay with you even after you walk past.
You know what I'm talking about; I stay with you, in your mind -- that tugging string of a thought which urges you to pull yourself out of your microscopical lives, and causes you to wonder: Who am I?
It's not a really important question, but for some reason it just won't leave you alone. I'm not a very unusual or outstanding looking person, but you wonder about me anyway. Who am I?
And you'll never know the answer. Because that's part of my job, too. To keep you wondering, even though you'll forget me by the end of the day.
Because my job isn't to keep you wondering, not really; I'm only here to remind you that you're not the only one living in this world. There are other people here, but sometimes that's easy to forget.