134340 is the thing with voids that endlessly grow, like a black hole; he is the thing that was pillaged of his identity, name, and status, left with nothing but an empty abyss. What was once named after a Roman god is now a mere number that defines his entire existence. 134340 has no purpose except to revolve around what he can never become: the rest of the world.

Like gravity pulling in matter, 134340 had dwarfed its growth, remaining “small and cozy” on the outer orbit of society. Nonetheless, he continues to revolve—like a planet orbiting the sun—except, 134340 isn’t a planet, not even close. “Pale as star-light on a gray wall . . . / evanescent as the reflection of a white swan / shimmering in broken water,” 134340 reflects uncertainty regarding purpose and self-worth; he is no exception to the harsh realities of societal views and standards. He remains outcasted yet still wishes for acceptance. Why?

It’s natural to long for a sense of belonging; it’s human nature. In fact, wanting others’ acceptance and emotional and social validation is the very essence that comprises humanity; without it, society would have no framework, order, or morality. The desire to connect and build relationships with others is no surprise. To be recognized in a society hostile towards societal differences is a privilege. Whether it’s a stranger or someone close by, the ability to connect to others gives identity, purpose, and even happiness. To have one’s name called by others and to have a presence in the world is what it means to be alive. Like a flower growing between cracked cement, a butterfly emerging from its cocoon, an abandoned phone booth in a desert waiting to be of some use, 134340 waits idly for a purpose, for he once had a name too: Pluto.