Vantage point

Thursday, June 02, 2005

The Tiniest Story I have Written

I am spent, I am over, I am done. My little affair with greatness ended before it could even begin. I slept through my own epiphany. I missed the very boat I was the captain of. And I never set foot in the plane I piloted.

Chasing an achievable reality seemed preferrable to me than chasing an out-of-reach dream.

No hordes will be crying to be let into my funeral. No street seller will make money selling my photographs. They will never name a street after me. There won't be a statue of me for pigeons to poop on. I will only serve as an agent to convert oxygen to carbon dioxide. An insignificant link in the food chain. A faceless face in the teeming crowd. A shapeless drop in the vast ocean.

I didn't flirt with Greatness because I feared rejection.

I slept through my own epiphany.