You’re sitting in a booth with nothing but air staring at you from across the table.
There’s no red “1” in the messages box.
It’s trivial but he meant something to you and his last moments were spent staring into the panicked eyes of a 40 something year old woman with sandy hair who didn’t even pet him the way he liked.
It’s then when you realize that this is a theme. This is a theme for everyone’s life, so you might as well get used to it. There will be no poetry night tonight. There will be no sculpting, no hugs, no meals. No one.
There will be no one.
Nothing will be left except for a half wrapped stale bagel that cost you $2.47 and a ghost of air watching you eat it.
Pets die and humans die and insects die and plants die and your mom will die and your sister will die and you eventually will die as well. It sucks, but there’s no unicorns in this world and that’s the only thing we’re really missing when you think about it. Humans can’t read minds and it’s frustrating at times, but it’s better this way because we can read the air from this empty booth instead. It might not speak loud, but it has a voice that’s ready to be heard. All I have to do is listen.
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