"Alone" by Edgar Allan Poe paints a fairly clear picture.
My name, is "someone" and my name is "no one"; I am not a good man. As this man, life has passed by with little to no memories to recollect.
Choices made will often appear temporary at first sight. We bog down our perceptions of our interactions with notions of grandeur or opposing feelings of dismay. Time continues to elude us and these temporary decisions become situations, situations then soon become prisons. I would often think about what had lead me to this place in time. The turmoil of our adolescence may generally leave little opportunity to succeed, but that doesn’t mean that our youth has to be wasted. In my case however, I fear it did. Every chance I had to take coal and make a diamond, I just took the coal at face value. Some of us choose to believe in things like fate or destiny. My path mostly felt, to such a degree, the best of a bad situation. My conscience was tormented by vague recollections of how and why I behaved the way I did. The option of sneaking away from danger was always something I could rely on. So as the years had passed, I came out virtually unscathed. The damage on the inside though, on the inside, it was a different story entirely.
An agreement made before our boon We learn the end before the rules We’re reminded how we’ll be there soon And left to fight with inadequate tools
You're the crumbs, left not found. The novelty won't fade. By the ridge, I would call. My crime was with no one. Needed to know, needed to know.