The child was, as all children are - full of questions.

"How tall is the sky?"
"It is taller than you," replied his guardian.
"How deep is the ocean?"
"It is deeper than you."

"The grass - how green is it?"
"Greener than you. Why does it matter?"

The child looked his guardian in the eye and said "Everything I have seen, in some way, surpasses me - the ocean is deeper and the sky is taller, so what am I?"
"You are yourself," said the guardian, crouching lower so he was level to the child's face, his dark and sparkly eyes shimmering with the light of the evening sun that also happened to be brighter than him.
"But what does that matter if all is superior to me?" The child pouted and paced around in the grass, which he now glanced down towards disgustedly.
"You cannot compare yourself to that which is divine," replied the guardian. "You are a child and you will never surpass these things, and neither will I. So is the world."
"If I cannot surpass them, then what can I surpass? My peers are simple-minded and foolish. The lure of the stars calls to me and begs for me to join their fold. Why am I myself and not something else?"
"That," said the guardian, pausing for a moment to clear his throat ( he had not aged as well as he had hoped ) "...is a question many ask. No one has the answer. Some things will always remain a mystery."

The child bit his lip and frowned at his guardian ( who was older, bigger, and stronger than him. ).

"If I do not know why I am myself, then I wish to be something else."
"That is impossible," laughed his guardian.
"No," replied the child angrily. "There must be a way. Have there not been others like me? It is a tiring existence and one of little gratification."
"There is plenty, my child," said the guardian, sitting down carefully. "It is a matter of what you will settle for, unfortunately. But it is not so terrible."
"But that is terrible," replied the child miserably. "I do not wish to live so."

"But it is either that, or to not live at all," said the guardian. "This world is a beautiful and dangerous land, and we must know our place in the plan. But we are cursed to never know - so we must simply exist. There is nothing else we can do, for to surpass everything we would have to been born as a different being."

"Then there is nothing for me," said the child.
"That is not true," replied the guardian solemnly. "You still have yourself."
"And nothing else?! how can it be of any value if I am unhappy with it?"
"It is not, alas, a matter of happiness - it is the only thing that, for you, has meaning, good or bad. It is vital. It is the only something from all of the nothing we are surrounded by. Thus you should embrace it, for it is the only peace you will ever truly find. It will give you strength and it will give you the will to do something for it."

And so as green as the grass glowed in the spring, and as loudly as the birds sang - the child no longer felt inferior, but separate. And when he grew old and died he was not afraid, but excited - because maybe, just maybe, there was something else waiting for him, something with depth, and feeling, and truth.

Something real.