I am many different things.
I am the shadow in the corner, watching your movements with great enthusiasm.
I am the emoji you always consider putting on all of your texts but never do.
I am the centipede, and all of my legs represent your deepest fears.
I am the washing machine to whom you carelessly entrust all of your dirty laundry. Yet I am also the malfunction that causes said machine to make the clothes even dirtier.
I am the group of teenagers who egg your house every Halloween.
I am always there and aways in view, like your abnormally long pinky toe. (I am aware of that, too, for I am always watching.)
I am here, and yet not. I am amused to see you trying to work out what I am. I am considering speaking more in the future, just to see you squirm.