“What it feels like”

Asta once attended a big party full of the top 1% of the country. Millionaires, billionaires, politicians, CEOs, A-list musicians and actors, you name it. Asta made it a point to dress to the nines. To outdress anyone who showed up. And the reactions from the other attendees was expected. They relished in the stares and the attention. This was what they lived for. What they loved. They knew for the rest of the night, nobody would be able to talk about anyone else.

When everyone was getting into the swing of things, Asta snuck away. Hid behind the curtains on the second floor, looking over the wide ballroom floor. The dances would begin soon, and they enjoyed watching the people looking around frantically for them. How many people would ask to dance with them today? Who should they choose? As they thought, they’d giggle to themselves in anticipation. Such high demand. They were in such high demand today.

But a singular couple dancing together stopped that mischievous joy they were enjoying in its tracks. An older couple, holding each other so tenderly as they danced slowly to the music. Asta could tell that in their youth, they were not anything special to look at. She was average, as was he. She had on simple jewelry, a conservative cut cream dress. He, a neat black suit and well-groomed hair. They danced, and Asta could see the way they conversed and giggled with each other, trading smiles that went right up into their eyes. They saw only each other.

In that moment, Asta felt like one of the many potted plants dotting the walls of the ballroom. Like an extra in a story that was not about them. They watched those two swaying to the soft music, resting their heads on each other. So intertwined that nothing could separate them. In that moment, it felt like those two were the only people that existed. That fondness they held for each other so strong it washed everyone else away. Including Asta.

At this point in time, they had gotten used to that peculiar, uncomfortable pain they felt whenever they witnessed couples like this. They didn’t even wince anymore when they spotted it. But they could never get used to that cold sense of emptiness that feeling imposed upon them. In a futile effort to curb it, Asta wrapped their arms round themselves, watching the pair move like they lived in their own world. It stirred a strange memory from when they were a child. How many years ago was that now? Nearly 5000, they were sure. Dressed in tattered, stained rags. Covered in dirt and grime. Watching from the dark backstreets of the town at the babbling child that hopped forward, his father’s hand in his left hand, and his mother’s hand in his right. Them lifting their child and swinging him. His excited screech. Asta remembered watching such a scene and experiencing so many thoughts and emotions that a child simply couldn’t understand.

Every time Asta saw others love, it brought them back to that memory. If they were fully human, they were sure that this would have driven them to such a deep and potent despair that would render life unlivable. But they were NOT human. Not fully, anyway. And perhaps that was worse. Because now, they stood in the shadows, staring at human love and feeling an existential ache. A hole so deep and cold and permanent that no amount of riches or attention could ever fill. And yet they were at peace with that. To live with and accept that gash in their heart. It was worse. All it left was a funny, passing thought. A question out into the void. How did it feel to be wanted for who you were? How did it feel to be loved?

Asta knew that question had no answer when it was them that asked it.