Nothing.

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  It came like a tsunami; receding out far back to give me a false sense of security, before rising up so tall, and then crashing down upon me as if I was nothing. 

  I was nothing. 

  Nothing but a ghost of the former self I was, thin and shredded into pieces. I had nothing to go after, because I was just a lost spirit floating around the base of homes, trying to get my senses back. I hover near food, trying to taste it, but I can't. I drift above the ocean, trying to feel the coolness of the water, the refreshing soak I would have gotten after feeling the burn of the sun. I dance over the coals of a raging fire, trying to get the warmth to soak into my brittle bones, trying to capture that forgotten feeling of standing in a warm shower. 

  I was nothing. 

  I tried, and tried, and tried, but I still couldn't feel anything at all. So, I started to lose hope. I drifted over the cold gray seas, reveling in the dullness of a sky after a thunderstorm. I avoided colour, because my life was colourful. I had no life now, so it shouldn't be colourful. I hid in the darkest areas in the world, under shipwrecks, kilometres down the Pacific. I drifted through the Bermuda Triangle and floated through the ruins of Mount Olympus. 

  I didn't anticipate my end, so I did nothing to prepare myself for it. And so, I became nothing. 

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