The thing about him…

..was that there was no thing about him.

No mystery.
No riddle to be solved.
No prize at the finish of his maze.
No tricks in the deck of cards
he played.
He simply just was that way.

‘That was it’…

..I finally realized,
as I inked, ‘The End’
on the last chapter
of the last book
of our last page.

I placed the book on the shelf amongst the other finished fairy tales.
I smiled proudly, staring at her powerless form—
remembering the months of drama and chaos
we stretched and teased into her pages.

I laughed aloud…
for happiness of the story created.
I laughed,
for sadness
of the precious ticks of time I wasted.

I laughed, because I finally realized
the thing about him…
was there was no thing about him
Every part of himself he had shown me
was exactly who he was.

And that was the thing about him…

I  liked  the  story  we  created.
But remembering was painful
—I had learned too much.

I locked up the bookshelf
then threw the magic pen away.

Goodbye no thing.
Goodbye.