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Identity

He'd never noticed it before. He'd read about it in his books, he'd heard about it from stories passed down like outgrown clothes - their value diminshed by time's indiscrimination. But he'd never felt it. As he waited among a multitude of others, familiar but unknown faces, he stood at the edge of his world but had not realised. The shore came in and brought out again what it needed. Its that thing that you can't ever seem to grasp. It lies buried. Its silent, latent, dormant - but constant. Distance makes it stronger and time has nothing but cemented it. Its imagined; a myth - dreamed in the bussom of an earlier time where such things were needed. He understood it's irrationality. And he'd certainly never felt it. So why now? 

Reviews

[otterbe]

Your word usage is excellent. Most of this flows well, takes a couple reads to sink in. Very nice work, the only mistake is "bussom" I think you meant bosom. Looking forward to reading more of your work. Could be a nice flash fiction piece, have you read Flashquake, it's a flash lit mag. Might be something they would be interested in.