post #31

[exopromptmeme]

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[FILL] Nessuna Cosa

[anonymous]

A/N: OP's prompt leaves a strong impression. I cannot get it out of my mind. I didn't do this prompt any justice, sorry op.

*

There are more than 7 billion people in the world, walking and breathing like me, yet this huge census does not comfort me.

In the vast universe, I'm nothing but a single dot, though that is also an exaggeration. To the world, I am meaningless and my absence would not even make the smallest effect, and that thought makes me lonely. For my existence not to be acknowledged, I feel like I'm similar to those ants I see on the ground. They are many, and if one dies it doesn't make a difference. They will still go on marching towards their queen, carrying the smallest crumbles of food along the way just to live. They wouldn't mourn, they wouldn't bat an eyelash. The world is also like that, it wouldn't care if I died, it would still go on, rotating on its axis, rotating around the orbit. If the world won't acknowledge my existence, then I will find someone to acknowledge me.

For that, I go to crowded places most times. The train, for example, I have no defined destination, I have no use for such transportation but I ride it. In the early hours of the morning, it is jam-packed and I am in it most times. I feel their skin around me, their breaths, the sounds they make; I feel that they're real and existing like I am. Yet it doesn't give me relief.

They're real, but I'm not. Their sweaty skin burns my own, they're etching their existence because I have acknowledged them, but to them, I am nothing. I am but a faceless entity that they had brushed their skin to, I am not even worthy to enter their memories and stay there, I am only a fleeting sensation, and that's an exaggeration. I haven't even crossed their minds.

With this realization, I stay in the train as it empties out its passengers on the next stop. I sit on one of its nearly-empty benches and stare at nothingness. There's nothing more to think of, but such action shall prove me no different from a moving object. But why does it matter anyway? I exist, yet I don't. I am a faith that no one believes.

I met a dragon one time. A beautiful majestic dragon and one with marvelous wings that you know will fly away so soon and out of your life. I tried desperately and plucked his marvelous wings for him to stay, and he did, because he had no choice. He was alone after I broke him.

We were together for awhile. I gave everything to him; I gave everything of me, even though I'm empty and dry, like one of those barren lands that exist pointlessly. It wasn't a relationship of happiness, it wasn't a relationship of sadness, and it was a relationship that reflected me. It was there, but it might as well not, because it seemed non-existent.

I desperately attempted to make my existence burn on his skin. For me to feel alive, to strip me of my loneliness of being alone. My skin against him, every touch should have been searing hot, but it's not; it felt dull like the color gray, I felt numb and empty like my existence. Even if my hands are tightly woven against his, there are spaces between them. That space is infinite and frozen, and it mocked me, that him and I couldn't really exist together as one.

I am an island in an unknown ocean.

OP

[anonymous]

This was beautiful! Thank you very much! I loved the part about the trains, about the sensation of being packed with other individuals and yet still not assimilating with it. Not to mention the desperation as he tries to the other stay. Thank you for making my day.