He Lied

He felt tired. 
Tired of the words, the footsteps, the thoughts tormenting his soul. 
Tired of the act, the game, the relentless slide to nothingness. 
Drained by empty platitudes voiced in a monotone air. 
Worn down to the root by the self-enforced, unreciprocated lightness that compounds the bulk of this temporary contract we call presence.

But instead he just said “Great thanks, how about you”?

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