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July 16, 2013
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(Contains: strong language)
He thinks maybe he was supposed to die a long time ago.

It's like he was slated to die as a child, and somebody forgot to kill him. He knows this isn't how other people live. People don't see him, they don't think about him - he can slip under the radar and nobody knows he exists. He lives only half in this world, half in another. He knows things other people never realize; the futility, the complexity, the poetic beauty of sorrow and life are his to keep. Nobody else would understand, which is a fact he only knows because he used to shout it to deaf ears when he was little. When he cried for no discernable reason, he wept for the sheer magnitude of everything. He knew it, he felt it in his soul, and he could not comprehend why nobody else did.

Some things got it, at least. Never people, but he could communicate with some things, and they spoke to him.

The rain understood him. The clouds, the thunder, the flashes in the sky - those would comfort him. The open highway at night told him rest and sang him to sleep. He would watch the drops on the window blow away in the wind, hear them fall millimeters from his face, press his skin against the cold glass, and let it all calm him. Those were the times when he could feel the world around him quiet and be.

His friends and family wondered why they were never his inner circle. The truth is that it was never about them, or anyone else. People just didn't see anything. Humans blindly walked the earth, made friends, had sex, worked, and then died. He could see so much more, and he wondered.

Why are they so happy about such tiny things?

Why are they so shallow?

Can't they see how much bigger it is?

But they never looked at the sky like he did. They saw the vast expanse of blue, but they never really looked in.

When he sees the stars, he feels them and their ages - what seems like an eternity.

When he watches an eagle ride the air, he flies.

When he stands by the river, he hears it dancing its life and strength to the seas like a kata.

When he walks the earth, he knows what it means. Sometimes, it terrifies him; sometimes, it hurts; sometimes, it just exists, and he marvels at the truth of it all.

Maybe someday, he'll find someone else who sees it too. It won't change anything (they'll both still be alone, no matter how many people are there), but he'll feel less like he's trying to describe the entirety of time and space to a fucking shoe. Somebody will hear him, and they will call back across the yawning gulf that is existence, and perhaps he will find some small measure of peace in this world. He might bear it with more tolerance, more grace. He will neither live in it, nor ever understand why everyone else does, but it will be more bearable.

That's probably all he can really hope for in a place where he already sees everything.
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:iconwidget101:
Widget101 Jul 17, 2013  Student General Artist
I've always wondered if inanimate objects have feelings

also do you want a hug
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:iconcheekyfox:
CheekyFox Jul 26, 2013  Hobbyist Writer
'm good, thanks. I guess stuff gets to me sometimes, but it's good to know people care. :)
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:iconwidget101:
Widget101 Jul 26, 2013  Student General Artist
:meow: yes, people care, good to remember
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