He swung around the Sun.
Passing by others just like him.
He thought it was a blast. Look how much he could see.
Whenever he passed another planet, he would smile and say hi.
But he never got a response.
There were nine of them on the route, but none of them seemed to even notice him.
The years went on. He kept the same route. What started as excitement grew dull. It just became what he did. The normal route.
He would hear voices, but he knew they only came from inside him.
He felt the upper chest pain of nuclear attack.
From the other planets' perspective, he was beautiful and looked healthy. A nice mix of blue and green with swirling clouds.
But no one else knew what was going on.
No one took the time to ask him how he was. He never got the chance to confess that the beauty was leaving him. His trees were dying. His air was turning gray as the voices from inside him bickered and fought.
But no one but him knew.
He wished another planet would stop and ask how he was doing, but they never did.
So he just circled the same circle he had always circled, never missing a beat, never slowing down. On the outside, he looked fine. But on the inside, he was dying.