At that very moment when those words were spoken for the first time, I felt like my whole identity was stolen. All that I was, all that I could be was still just swirling around, untouchable and seamless, like a mere shadow… or perhaps a ghost, heard of but never really seen; until, with the force of just a clutter of distant words flinging out of his mouth into the air, its whole existence blended itself with the wind and flew away to his open palm.

I was shattered.

Not once did I, who people like to refer to as an idiot of a man, become devastated for not being credited; because of the fact that I and I alone can never really change: no one cared and everybody assumed.

The question still lies: Where is the credit due? At this point, the matter’s subjective. For most people, it’s right where his name is written. For the seekers of the truth, it’s hanging, still, all this time, on the hem of my shirt, slinging while being dragged down by people’s wrong beliefs.
Though I’ll admit, it could go down further, it could just be completely gone,…
All it takes is one more word, just one more.

In the end, when all has been settled, the only thing left to say is:
He isn’t me but ‘I’ am now his.