He wasn’t patient and he wasn’t kind, not intolerant nor cruel. Not one word and not a thousand words that could place him in that comfortable wall of types; who he was and who he wasn’t. Some nights he was as tender as the glow of the midnight moon and some he was seething with the rage of a thousand suns. He was a calamity of contrasts that baffled even the most of capable professionals. But he was not bi polar. Remember, not a single word. For days on end he had a place among the soft hearted and then he was suddenly cold and distant. He could seal himself off the plights of others and berate the trust they placed in him. Just as he could not help but be drawn to the broken moths that kept circling his burning flame. He was one of them, the moths, always smoldering his wings on the dangerous fires that sadness evokes. He was the very hopelessness that killed whatever life forms floated close by. But in the magnitude of a universe that was a tainted haven for such beautiful tragedies, he was akin to the tiniest of specks in a sandstorm. Just another nobody. Nothing that would be dearly missed should it cease to exist. Just another brick in the wall.

It was almost a contenting assurance being that insignificant. And it sure did offer the perfect breeding ground for wild irresponsibility. The freedom to test the boundaries of all his imperfectness with reckless abandon. When you have the confidence that nothing bigger than yourself will be reeled out of place by your actions or lack of them, there is very little that can hold back the self destructive explosions that will set you about finding the way, your place in the world.

But he was not always so forlorn.

The night it all changed, he was standing beneath a sky full of stars trying to comprehend it all. It came to him in a swooping wind. Of all the billions and billions of miles that was everything, he simply was nothing. Nothing in the face of all the gods that looked down upon him and nothing to the ground that he loosely stood upon. Relentless doubt flooded him about the certainty that he was even being noticed by these gods that religion claimed to have placed him here. It was an awakening that should have troubled him or even in the least wavered his sense of purpose. It would have been tremendously unsettling to any other person but he did not waste a fret.  Nothing came crashing down to make a hole in his chest the way he would have expected. Perhaps he was even too immaterial to waste despair on.
Rather, in the overwhelmed moonlight, he lit his last cigarette and took a long hard pull. He watched the smoke fade away to nothingness and felt strangely at peace.


4 thoughts on “Nobody

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