Short Story Week 2017: Day Three -It Just Is

I have to admit, I'm not really clear on what this is. I was hard pressed to post any kind of story today, so I had to dig through everything that I had saved on Google Drive. This was left over from my second nanowrimo, and as best as I can tell it was a one sided conversation with whatever the raw energy that makes up fictional characters is. It somehow feels right as a sort of odd piece, particularly the way cutting and pasting spaced it all out. I think I'm just going to say this is pure writer's muse without any refinement. Enjoy? Maybe?

It Just Is

I like metaphors. I like talking about things. Things are more interesting than people. People worry about
details. People obsess over details. People are details. I like humanity. Humanity isn’t a detail. Humanity is
a concept. A metaphor. A thing. Maybe it’s not a metaphor. It doesn’t matter. I like humanity more than
people.
If I said that ten more times would it have more or less meaning? I think it would be less. It would become
a ritual and then an equation. Nothing is deader than an equation. A ritual is almost as dead because its
meaning is in the repetition. Thus a thing means more if it is only done once. Which is a strange notion, if
the more something is done, the less it means, then are ideas that are never expressed priceless?
For the sake of value is it beneficial to stop people from having ideas or merely from expressing them?
How can you stop an idea from happening in the first place? By filling the mind with clutter. With details.
We all want more stuff. We all think about stuff. We obsess over stuff. Unimportant, uninteresting stuff.
Well, to hell with stuff. And to hell with details. That’s what I say. That’s where it all belongs anyway. In
hell. Nothing is what matters. Nothing is beautiful. I love nothing. I need nothing. Someday I’ll be nothing.
And I can’t wait.
Yes I’m just wasting your time now. I’m giving you words. I’m giving you details. That’s what you want
isn’t it? It’s not really what you want per se but it is what you have chosen to have. Why? I don’t know.
Maybe you don’t really know either. Not really. But you have chosen to need words, so I’ll give them to
you. Just know I won’t always do that. Nothing personal. Nothing at all.
Still, you’re here and I’m here and a little surrealism never hurt anyone who didn’t deserve it. So let’s take
a moment to just be together. Of course for that to happen I have to keep giving you words which isn’t
what I want, but I’ll give them to you anyway. I’m sweet that way.
So here we are. You, me and time. It’s never enough for time so to hell with time. But just being is enough
for me. It isn’t enough for you. That’s the difference between us. You’ve chosen me but you don’t need me.
I on the other hand need you even though I’d never choose you. I don’t need to be. But I am. And that’s the
way it is.
So I suppose I’m a metaphor then. That’s fine. I like metaphors and I like me. The two are compatible. Just
don’t describe me. That forces details on me and I hate that. That makes me a person, not a metaphor. Then
what’s to become of me. That was a question. Then what’s to become of me? Thank you. You don’t have
to answer but at least allow me the correct question.
Well I’m almost done wasting your time. It is yours after all. My time is a gift from you. Yours is slipping
away as we do or don’t speak. But I’m happy to have been able to have time to waste. And I don’t mind the
words so much either.