Purpose

The void 

  that would be created

if I were to disappear...

How big would it be?

Not very, I imagine

No bigger

than a fraction of a part of an 8th of a cell that is already dividing into something

even smaller.

If I were to disappear, 

there would be few, 

if any

obligatory tears shed, 

and then

that would be it

.

No more.

The end. 

Possible happily ever after, and then

forever forgotten.

No purpose 

but no purpose 

does not mean I am worthless.

Even if a book gets burned,

Or a mural is marred,

Or a sonata is slaughtered...

for the time of its existence,

There was beauty in the eyes of the beholders,

And isn't that enough?

For the time being

some of the only eyes that I can see

are the ones reflected back at me

But isn't that enough

?

It has to be enough, 

for the only other beauty beheld in any other eyes 

is derived from the blank slate of a mask that they are allowed to see,

save for Those few who are willing to take it off and

accept

or

deny

But it's enough.

With the mask, I am a complete and utter stranger, but 

Without it,

I am who I am:

Visible music and audible art.

I am me.

My book will be burned one day,

and I know that

few people will read through it to the end,

if at all. 

But it will have been read

and have, for some reason, meant something to someone somewhere.

Even if that "somewhere" is barren

Even if that "someone" is brief

Even if that "something" is bereft

Even if that "some reason" is "just because"

It will have been enough.