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It is dark. So it must be night. Anyway there is no sun in the sky down there. And I can hear the breath of the night, the sweet stench of doom draping the world. I can feel that also.

I am pretty good at feeling things like this.

There is this person. I have absolutely no idea who he is. I need to be frank about this. I don't really care who or what that person is. All I do notice is that he seems to be made of some kind of plastic. I can see through him. Except where his heart intervenes. He is a big fellow. May be close to seven.

I wonder why he is draped in such black stuff. Especially since it doesn't hide anything. And there isn't much to see anyway, except the road going through him. And the shimmer of his substance.

He seems to be in front of me. Mostly. Part of him is behind me though. The tremendous silence engulfing me must be owing to this guy. Because, most of the time this walkway is pretty noisy. And crowded.

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A Weird Loner !

Pondering on the reason for one's existence is hardly the sort of thing one ought to be doing these days. But, there being nothing really worthwhile about life, about being alive, or even about feeling alive, this is just the kind of futile occupation that appeals to loner's of my sort. So here I am, by my favourite watering hole, listening to the silence of eons. Maybe I am weird, like some nice people have kindly pointed out. What they have not been able to point out though, is the reason for my weirdness or anybody elses weirdness. I guess, sitting by all by oneself, by the side of a sullen lake is weird. Fine. So I am a weird loner. Thank you very much. That is what loners are ! Anyway, I haven't posted anything at all for a long time. Even my best friends seem to have given up on me. It is tough being a loner. It is tougher being a weird loner.
First I learned there are other loners out there. Then I learned there are people out there who care. People who actually seem to be concerned about you. And all the time I had assumed a sort of worthlessness which now seems to be, well, rather disproportionate. Sure, I knew there are nice people in this world. I never knew there were great people. Ok, I am not talking about GREAT people, you know. I am talking about the ordinary people with the spark of greatness in them. What can be greater than caring about a fellow human being whom you don't even know.
He was back in that old place, where memories were on riot. Nostalgia doesn't half describe what he felt. It was not the moon. Not the flowers. The shock of deja vu was in the ordinary things, in the vegetables and the sodden grass. The drizzle just added to the score. He realized what many before him had already known. That love is not about joy, or happiness. It is about anguish, about a glimpse of the unreachable. A vision of what the human brain can achieve, and what no neural circuit has yet managed to duplicate. Sitting on the moist rocks of the cliff, he realized he woud gladly go through the same pain, and grief. For love is a gift of god, even for athiests. A message form a power greater than humanity. And he said to himself. I miss you. I miss you like the air I breathe. The ripple of the waves of the lake, like soft laughter, fills me with a silent loneliness nothing can ever wash away. Where are you now? What are you doing?