I wanted to leave a mark. Of any kind. For posterity, to get noticed, to stop being ordinary. But being lightweight, and close to insignificant in general, it was an uphill struggle. I did my best, though. I was left hanging behind the curtain — but also on the sunny side. Stuck is what I was, not much room for maneuver. And then, just as I was accepting the blatantly obvious, I noticed that I was, actually, leaving a mark. On said curtain. It wasn’t the mark I was hoping for: it was the opposite in most ways. Black and white, antithetical, and even less noteworthy than me, if you can imagine that. But what the hell, it was a real mark I was leaving. So proud, so content I was. Until… but you know the ending. It’s always the same. What was I thinking in the first place?