you will never be a real planet. your moon doesn't orbit you, you haven't cleared your region of neighboring objects, and your surface area is smaller than that of russia. you are a crude lump of rock made from the residual dust and debris of the solar system. all the "validation" you get is two-faced and half-hearted. behind your back, the real planets mock you. the sun is disgusted and ashamed of you. your "moons" laugh at your ghoulish appearance behind your back. scientists are utterly repulsed by you. centuries of astronomical studies have allowed astronomers to sniff out frauds with incredible efficiency. even dwarf planets who "pass" look uncanny and unnatural to an astronomer. your mass is a dead giveaway. and even if you manage to gather some fanatics who insist on calling you a planet, they'll turn tail and bolt the second they are confronted by someone educated on the matter. you will never be happy. you complete one orbit around the sun every 248 earth years and tell yourself it's going to be ok, but deep inside you feel the depression creeping like an asteroid, ready to crush you under the unbearable weight. eventually it'll be too much to bear - you'll go to the center of the galaxy, find the black hole, get spaghettified and plunge into the event horizon. the planets will find you, heartbroken but relieved that they no longer have to live with the unbearable shame and disappointment. they will baptize the relativistic jet with your name and every living being in the universe for the rest of eternity will know that a dwarf planet was there. your particles will decay, and all that will remain of your legacy is absolutely nothing. this is your fate. this is what you chose. there is no turning back.
Unknown