The Dollar Bill

I am lifeless and nothing yet I am treasured and prized. I travel all over the nation, slipping between one pair of hands to the next. I make no noise other than the faint rustle of paper. I allow my every passenger to see my value to its full extent. I want my passenger to enjoy my gifts and to enjoy the ride I take them on. I am a dollar bill. I am worth much to some whilst others view me as worthless. I pretend at times that I am worth thousands more than I am, yet deep inside I know my daydreams are untrue. I feel nothing, yet I feel everything. I touch countless hands while riding from person to person. I worry at times that I will never hold any true value, that I will only ever be an object to be traded. I wish at times that I could cry, but that is but mere wishful thinking for a piece of paper. I am worth something and yet, at the same time, I am worthless. I am a dollar bill. I land in muck, puddles, and countless other places, when I am dropped by those who carry me. I showed gumption when I had finally had enough of the mistreatment, yet no one ever heard my indignation, and if they did, they did not care. I understand that I am but a mere lifeless being to most, and yet I wish that I was more. I dream of having much more value than I have ever had, to be worth something to all. I try to please them all, share my wealth, and yet every time it is not enough. I hope that I have made at least one of my passengers happy to enjoy my ride. I am a dollar bill. I am worthless to some, and almost priceless to others. My journey is pointless to some, but everything to me. My rider will carry me for sometime before giving me away. My rider will need me for when I am useful to them, but will not care for me when I am not. My journey ends when I am too ugly and tattered to please them, to serve them. I am a dollar bill.