Pretty, Lonely

I'm a pretty, lonely girl,
and I've been pushed too far.
I'm a pretty lonely girl,
and I don't know who you are.
I look at the past and I smile.
And I look at the future with a hint of denial.
I slip through the spaces.
There aren't any traces.
My presence isn't noticed or unnoticed.
And my freedom is corroded.
I all I want to do is be there.
And now all I'd like to do is not care.
But I've never been that girl.
And I fear I'll never be a part of one world.
It always comes down to a confusing end,
why don't I feel like anyone is really, truly, actually, my friend?