one

Nothingness is my home now. The crumbling thunder of the crashing waves has no effect on me. The dreary weary days drag onward blending together meaninglessly. My mien is melancholy, my countenance lackluster. The daffodils in the valley have lost their glow and grey is all I know, for he is gone. Happiness seems a ghastly overused hell. There is no surcease for my depression. Nothingness is my home now. This plutonian world has had its fill of me. Without him, nothing matters. Aptly I am prepared to enter the abyss of the unknown. The tree boughs by the river bow in obeisance to my misery. I cannot be consoled, for I must exist without the best part of me. He is gone. Nothingness is my home now.