You were sick of it all. The drama and lies for the most trifle of reasons.
You were cracks and crevices and chinks and crannies, held together with the thinnest ligament of hope.
That 7.3 billion people in the world and at least one would figure out how your smile was all shades of fake.
But, no one did.
You were now beyond the realms of respite intoxicants promised. You craved with everything in you, a human anesthesia. A friendly clap on the back, a warm hand clasping your freezing ones, a laugh full of life was all that you needed.
However, this time around, you were a bit smarter and steered clear of hope. You had suspected that it would again be 7.3 billion people, and you.
And, it was.
You still clamoured for attention, though. Mismatched everything and iconoclastic thinking became second nature to you. You tried your best to rise above the cacophony of hands set in diamonds, forced niceties, feet supported on tenuous inches, loud music drowning out emergencies.
Alas, what a tragedy it is that the world turns its back to such art.
Because, yet again, 7.3 billion people in the world and you merely wondered, how and why.
Now tired of disappointment, you have accepted that it would always be 7.3 billion people in the world, and you. The thought makes you smile, though.
Seeing that it was you who was always singled out, you know the end would not be any different.
7.3 billion people in the world, and you.
Reduced to ashes, and a supernova.