zenon. six. fin.

>zero

The storm last night was raging. Thrashing, if that was the word to put it as. It was hard to describe. Zero wanted to place a word on it, but he couldn't find a word to represent it. There was no specific word, no specific sense that you could call upon to show you what the storm was like. It felt like a babble a child would make. Senseless. It was trying to convey something, that something was to come. storms often blow the world around, turn it upside down in its hell and pour. A purge to get rid of the things they didn't want. (As if raining would cleanse this world of whatever sin that had already).

One of those storms where it meant something should happen. Do you know what I mean? Like, if you were to be in a storm and that one person is always on your mind. You want them to escape and stop haunting your mind, but, once they leave you want them back. You want them to be with you and you want to tell them how you feel because dear god, those tired eyes that always pass by you make you want to say something. I want them to be here, I want them to be in my arms (stop dreaming, stop wishing). iIwant him here, I want to tell him how I love him - but I cant'. (god damn, it hurts so much).

I am zero. It used to mean for something, I gave the name to myself. It meant for the zero chance I had for falling in love. Love was something that seemed rare. It didn't exist, in whatever story that this fairy tail had placed me in. Love was something that I was told that didn't exist. Something that showed me it wasn't real, hell, I've seen it with my very own eyes. Love didn't exist for me. Zero, that was what I thought love meant to me. Zero, that was what I titled myself.

One, that's what it should've been.

I wish I could tell him - but he's gone. Zero means nothing, and it feels like dust. Sculpted dust, almost. His love had to be gone, swept away like a broom danced with it.

>heaven's so close

Brown hair tops his head, not really touched or tousled with. He never really touches it because he has no reason to make it look decent - decency was the least of his problems when the love of his life is dead, and the love never became real. It was the normal excuse for never fixing himself up by this day. his face hasn't been touched in his past four years. It was his own personal decision, really, because it's been four years since he had to stop caring what he had to look like. His brown eyes look faded. They're scared or broken. Just a lost cause, they've grown out of their need to keep alive. To look alive was a signal of feeling alive. He would do that, but that's not something he felt.

He felt tired. Weak. He felt like some senile old man as he sat in his room, only to escape every once in a while to inhale the outdoors. He'd spend those small moments, his what seems to be bled white skin waits with his wide open brown eyes. As he looks out from his home he felt a searching promise. Like he was waiting for something. Like if he were to have been told someone was coming to visit him. He was so anxious for them to come so he could join them and enjoy the evening with them.

It's a strange world, or a strange life that he lives. Is that what you call it? The answer will be found sometime soon.

He waits, his tall and slim frame seems to wait. For a sign or something. Or something To show that he was not alone. That those tired, old eyes could rest. That they could be alive again, so they could be glowing. But, for now, the dull look in his eyes never seem to leave.

> broken arrows.

Zenon missed him. He saw him in everything. He saw Wyatt in the stars and he saw them in his dreams. He saw Wyatt in his memories,, the ones that involved whatever fantasies of happiness with Wyatt existed. They existed once, but, now that the world has dug him into the ground, it's grown into just a simple dream A dream that doesn't become real, doesn't everyone know that dreams don't exist? Zenon stands alone. Is alone, that's the more accurate term for him.

He was alone - that was his opening statement. The idea that opened his mind from the depths that blanketed him in his sleep. He'd awaken to his belief of being alone, feeling alone. Maybe that was just his jealousy of whatever life that Wyatt lived. He was jealous that he didn't get to spend any moment of it with him. Does that make sense? He doubted his mind a lot. He wasn't sure if what he felt was happiness, envy, sadness, fear, or the norms of whatever love (his love seemed to be a special kind), had been. Whatever that was.

Zenon wanted a lot of things in his life that didn't include Wyatt. He wanted to be able to walk outside without people suggesting he go back inside to take a nap due to his resisting eyes. They looked like they were resisting closing and that temptation of the world that swept them away into a daze. There was the idea of only staying in his home. He liked that idea. But only for moments. He wanted to go outside - walk outside, but the dreary look in his eyes force him to stay inside. They always ask, "Are you okay?" They always ask "Are you tired?" He'd always reply with "I'm fine." Zero would mumble it as he looked back towards the ground They always ask "Are you sure you're fine?"

-

I'm not sure what to reply with, and I don't think I should reply. My preferred thought process and replies are done in my head. And, I'm not sure if I'm fine, or if I'm broken.

I know I am zero.

That I am nothing, because my love means nothing.