I looked out today,
past my car dashboard, past the car in front of me, and the car in front of them, and so on.
But I did not look at anything; instead I felt that which I will never once experience, and wept.
The boy, once loved, now a man, alone, painfully and dutifully living life without a spark or vigor for the passing days. Driving into work, working, driving home, sitting, pacifying with mindless nothings. Alive today, dead eventually, not missed, not known. With just as much potential as either of us, yet never realized.
The large swaths of humanity that will be misunderstood their entire lives, fighting towards a goal they will never see fulfilled, or arguing a point long ago settled by a remembered man. Never knowing the feeling I know now, never willing to experience existence as I currently am; not of superiority, of knowledge, or of power, but a feeling of perfectly dreadful peace. Nothing between what I call myself and The Maker but a thick fog, like a stolid inability to see eye to eye with that which claims Godhood over both the known and forgotten, ignorant and wizened, poor and rich alike.
Perhaps I wept out of pity; but I feel more like I wept out of jealousy.