8/29/25 3:23pm

Nothing.

The absence of what is 

The lack of something 

The end of existence

How disappointing to be defined by the things that you are not

To be stripped of what you are and to be known by the things you lack 

The characteristics you do not possess 

The ability that you do not have 

For those that posses knowledge of you to only know their idea of you 

For those that own creativity and ingenuity to know you only by the falsity of their own imagination

To be not known.  

How heartbreaking for those to walk around knowing you, hating you, envying you by your utter lack of existence 

For those to want you to negate the ownership of the characteristics they do have 

For those to want you merely to take something away from them

To take away the softness of themselves and become not 

For those to treat you as merely a means for personal evolution 

And even when you do have possession 

A grasp of something

The ownership of character 

It is still non-being that you have 

It is still the anithesis of existence that you are 

how saddening to be that which does not exist,

that which does not breathe,

that which does not have form nor boundaries of itself, 

that which does not own any predictions nor hypotheses.

That which does not even know itself 

To be that which is grieved upon for the things it cannot do 

To be known by no formation, 

Absence only.