I'm over humanity. My welcome has been worn down, and I have to go. Somedays my mind is in the clouds, floating through the air with great admiration for each and everyone of you. Love fills my vacant pit, and all I can do is smile. It's sweet tasting, but the sweet turns sour the longer the milk is left out. It's not from a lack of gratitude, it's from a lack of personal involvement. Time is shrinking, hours are passing, and my beating organ is shades of black and grey. Words are smelling like dog shit. Promises are outdated, null, and void. Do you really care? No, you don't. Do I really care? I guess not. Even those here in the present have yet to prove their claims. No longer do I dwell on the concept of longevity, for it's all a sham. There's hope for few, and the feelings are unconditional... but not for many. Alone isn't by choice, but by fate. You surround me, but I'm not there. A shell of a human is there, but the id has yet to be unbridled, and the history has yet to be revealed. Part ego, part super ego, that's all your eyes can see. I've become an idea, I've grown as a character... but as soon the shell starts cracking, the yolk starts dripping down your hand, you don't know what to do.
In the end... I don't know if I exist. I'm unsure how to prove I'm part of this reality, or if there's anything to prove at all. I'm just a myth. I only exist in stories.