I'm confused now.

At least three people would be dead
unless somebody else
stepped in to fill
the gap and lived the life
I called mine.
In fact how do I know
that hasn’t been?
How do I know
there wasn’t a different me
that I am not someone else
who fits the space
fills the blanks
stops the gap?
The story is written
the arc is drawn
and like Miss Ellie
in Southfork
the part can be played by anyone born.

My response to April Poem a Day Challenge day 3 on writer's digest - poetic asides.