He

He walks his life surrounded by people but feels alone. He is known but feels unknown.

He knows he should feel – angry, happy, sad, scared - but he doesn’t.

He knows he should care, but he doesn’t.

He’s in a place where everything feels like it’s floating, and it’s all neither balanced nor unbalanced. It’s a strange and unfamiliar feeling.

Is it so wrong to not be happy? To not be sad? If nothing is wrong, isn’t that a good thing?

Does his happiness require him to be happy? Or is the absence of sadness good enough?

Looking back on his life, looking forward into his future – these are two different people to him.

He isn’t at a crossroads.

He is at the end of one life.

He is at the infancy of another.

It might seem like he’s a butterfly emerging from its cocoon; but butterflies are something people adore, smile and wonder at.

So, this metamorphosis might seem more like a moth to them – plain, unnoticed, dull - and he’s content with that.

People try to relate; he is unrelatable.

People try to empathize; they are wrong in their assumptions of him.

He’s not lost, he doesn’t need saving, he doesn’t need help.

He’s just different now.