Tales of Mediocrity

It was not the case that he did not recognize his greatness or anything of that sort. It was just that he was mediocre. Sure he had trouble accepting this fact. But he was mediocre alright. Right over there where no one would recognize him. Not memorable. Someone you can easily forget because he left no lasting impression.

He wished he could be at the right height - you know 5 7 - 5 10 - because you also cannot be very tall and handsome to be taken seriously. You need to have just the right kind of appearance to make people seem you don't care about worldly pleasures. That you can grow a thick beard, wear worn out clothes, grow out your hair and be this lovable character. A revolutionary here to liberate the world of its misery and women out of their lonely lives to find true love. No - he was none of that. He was 5 3 and liked to say he was 5 4. Because he couldn't even come to terms with that lack of an inch. He thus remained unlovable, and also someone who couldn't be taken seriously.

Sometimes he was nice, sometimes he had many special qualities. But these qualities were always meant to attract someone else. Someone other than her. She of course appreciated these "special" qualities but what justice would be there in this world if these were meant for her. Always for someone else. Of course he would never find this someone else. Maybe he didn't even want to. He was never sure. He was sure that he wanted it to be for her though.

He had to wish her the best and all the happiness. He would be happy for her too. And he was happy for her. Could there be anything more beautiful than her smile, and so how could he not be happy to see her smile. But he was never happy the way he wanted to be. It's the sort of happiness that eats you from inside. Sadness could have perhaps saved him. But he wasn't fortunate enough to be bestowed with the right to sorrow.

He had tried to tell her that he was unhappy before, but she asked him to snap out of it. And so if he didn't snap out of it he would be someone who didn't listen to her advice. He couldn't let himself be that person. So he has been trying to snap out of it. He longs for her shoulders to cry but now he only has the shower to carry out this emotion. Where tears blend with drops from the faucet - and when you wipe yourself you wipe off everything only to carry out the same ritual every day. It's easier that way. You can plan out your time for sorrow and conceal it to be just something that one does every day. After all he wouldn't know what others do during their showers. So he can always plead ignorance when found out and ask "was I not supposed to do that? I'm sorry I'll stop crying in the shower as well."

He will now be the clown in her city. He always makes sure he paints his face with that wide red smile. So happy he is. So funny he is. People laughing with him - people laughing at him - what's the difference. Everyone has a good time. Everyone likes being around him. He could be any other clown though. Everyone will then go to their own houses after the show - maybe think of the few good acts and jokes before sleeping. Tomorrow they will have their own lives to lead. He has not part in these lives though.

Don't Leave

He once half-decided to leave,
But stayed,
Because she asked him not to,
That she needed him.
He is afraid to raise the threat again,
Since he's sure this time,
She wouldn't mind this proposition.

No right to have a heartbreak

In what cruel world, in what dimension of the universe is one not even allowed to have a genuine heartbreak and be sad and cry for eternity.

From the depths of despair

Love is perhaps the only pain that one holds on to dearly. What must it feel like to be loved. He wouldn't really know. He thought he was loved but he was not. All his life unrequited love. Endless and unrequited. He has sought temptations of the flesh outside but left unsatisfied. Now he hold on to this pain like a mother holds on to her new-born, like the drowning man to the twig - both knowing that what they hold on to will eventually leave them in more agony. But they are all helpless. This is the life they are destined to lead - the life he is destined to lead. A life in solitude and no love returned. Never to experience touch, never to experience the embrace that means "hold on to me, and stop the night - stop the sun from rising". There will be sunrises and sunsets. Several sunrises and several sunsets. His life will continue turning like the cogs of time with no stopping until each cog rusts and gives in. And that is the end. Where no one remembers the cogs. He is just replaced in this world after a nameless death.