The Comfort in mediocrity

Silence, darkness - you'll find me there in greyscale. Buzzing - the flickering of harsh lights; breathless and clammy with confusion; gasping for air as if a rare commodity.

I've always been this way... unbalanced, afraid. My edges are rough, sharp, uneven, and splintered. I am not the first choice, but the resulting comfort makes placing second, third, or even last an equitable trade.

I breathe out, letting go of stress and blending numbingly into mediocrity - a purposeless speck on a crowded rock, rotating forever in a desolate void of endless space.