He stood on the side of the road, silent, and wind swept, deep in The Valley of Lost Souls. He knew how he had come to be there, he knew why, but it didn't matter. There was a time when being alone was what fed his loneliness, a wolf that succored at his soul. There was a different ghost there now with no name, but a pallored visage that lacked definition and resembled emptiness. Where once a man existed there was now a void that lost all sense of being. He was an empty vessel, no dreams or aspirations, no will, no thought, no desire. He simply was. He simply was broken.
He looked skyward, looking into the starry night, into the depths of the universe unfettered by anything for billions of light years. He seemed less significant in this scheme of things, and his emptiness deepened, his concerns irrelevant. In his own skin he had lost meaning, and in this wide sense of being he was far less than he already was. He did not know who he was for being shown he was was an enigma.
This was not the way it was supposed to be, but it was the way it was. He felt he was not unhappy, only empty. He did not know which way to go, but he knew standing here accomplished nothing. One cell in his brain knew this was not his nature, and that in truth, things were not as dismal as the rest of him felt they were. His broken heart wanted nothing but for the deep ache to wane, it felt no compulsion to move in any direction until he could breath. He found solace in not caring, not worrying, being nothing, being alone. He believed in himself, and in that there was hope.
So, for now he stood there and gazed in loving wonder at his universe. He knew he was, that he mattered for himself, and that this would be the spark that would find him and renew him. He would heal, he just needed to stand here for a while, alone, unthinking, unfeeling, unbothered...
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