He was my one eternal. Even though we were nothing but two kids who were lost and confused and somehow managed to make it through our commonplace lives. He was there. He was eternal. He was a celestial being working as a gas station attendant. I guess being extraordinary makes you want to be ordinary even more. The thinkers, the ones who never stop shouting at the skies, are the ones who crave normalcy. They are so unusual and out there from birth, stars burning brighter than all the others in the night sky, that they prefer to be unseen, unheard.
The normal ones are the ones who crave recognition.