Average

There's billions of us out here. The fair, the usual, the mundane masses, and the worst descriptor of all: the normal. We're nothing special. Nothing to look at, to talk about. Nothing to raise a glass and toast over, no we will never be kings, conquerors, queens or lovely saints; Soon after we are gone we are forgotten like misplaced linen, once comfortably useful, easily replaced. Like a fading dream, that upon waking one wonders if there is a purpose to, but soon forgets the details of. We're not bad guys, nor especially good, we're just us - that's all. It's not our fault really, we we're thrown crying into this mindless milieu of routine ordinariness. Unlucky? Perhaps. Screwed over? Possibly. Forgotten? Probably. But, most likely just here to simply pass the time, to turn with the earth, and alleviate someone's boredom a bit. It's nothing but a thing, No one's fault (certainly not our own) no collusion, no covert operation here, just the way things go. - But, if by chance or by design one gets lucky enough to just once, truly cry and laugh at the same time - like the sun breaking through a rain cloud - then, just for that brief moment, for us the lowly, a reprieve, a glory, a reason. There, then, God smiles and winks and let's us consider; Maybe there is something to all of this after all... And being average, as it turns out, is not a curse.