Sfumato

He stood tall, alone, waiting for her to show.

The rain said she wouldn’t come. That he’d be left alone for all eternity.

But the thunder said otherwise.

In the beginning, the days grew longer and the weather began to change, the thunder turned into traffic, the booming sounds of machinery and never ending progress toward tomorrow.

Before too long, once progress was complete, the noise died down, and so did everything else along with it.

The birds grew silent, because there were no birds to sing. The wind grew tacit because there were no leaves for it to blow through. Even his footsteps refused to acknowledge his existence. 

When it all vanished, that’s when he realized that the rain was right.

“I told you,” it said. “She never loved you. She took you for a ride to the end of time, the end of it all. That’s what this is. Nothing. How does that make you feel?”

He stood alone, tall, searching his head for an adequate answer for the rain, the only thing left that would even remotely confirm his being. He scratched his head and rubbed his eyes, looking for any answer he could.

“It gives me great pain,” he replied, “which makes me realize that I am alive.” He walked off into the darkness, leaving nothing.

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