How do you know when you’re at the end of your rope? Is it when everything is no longer important and you find yourself not caring about anything at all? Because there’s a monster growing inside of me and he doesn’t seem to want to let go.
But I don’t want to go. I really, truly, honestly want to stay here. Alive and breathing every second. Alive. because there are books I haven’t red yet, and people I need to meet.
But my mind is determined. My mind is determined to stop myself from staying.
Breath in once and breath out once.
You’re here and you’re alive.
And you are touching every single atom around you.
Your smile is lighting up everything around you.
Isn’t that enough?
Slowly dying. Slowly existing.
Slowly. Slow. Come on.
“From the moment we enter crying to the moment we leave dying”.
Come on. Just a few more minutes.
Just a few more hours.
Just a few more weeks.
“Just keep swimming”.
Even if it takes forever before you see anything through the fog. Even if nothing is happening.
But if you have to go,
I might be able to understand you.
In fact, I’m understanding it right now. I’m understanding you. Okay. Come on.
I don’t know if this, what I’m typing out right now, is for me or if it’s for you, but I’ll type it anyway.
It’s your choice.
But the sky is endless.
And the possibilities are endless.
I keep thinking about people at school that I’ve never really talked to. If I didn’t show up to school one day, and then for another day and another, what would they think? Would they notice? Would they say, “oh, I wish I knew this person”? I’m not dying. I’m not going to risk it all. I’m not going to take myself out of this mess. I’m just thinking. I’m just wondering.
After all, life is just thinking and wondering.
It’s important. You wouldn’t get it. Oh, wait, you would. You’ve been broken too. But is this being broken?
What’s a heart if you can’t tell it’s there?
And you can only tell it’s there if you feel it breaking.
The irony of it all.
I sat here yesterday and I was crying.
I was crying, and why? Because I knew it. Even then.
I would never feel the same again.
But anything is better than this feeling.
Anything except for death itself.
I’m not making sense to myself.
I don’t remember how I’m supposed to think.
I don’t even know if I’m real anymore. This is a dream. Isn’t it? Just a figment of my warped imagination. I’m not really here.
So long and good night.
Catch you tomorrow.
Remember that you’re a giant compared to an ant. Think of how much ants get existential dread.
Hm? Think about it.
They have it much rougher than we do. Remember the ants.
How are you doing?
Are you drifting in the wind?
I don’t know how you feel. If you say “me, too,” I still don’t know how you feel. I won’t know, because I’m not you. I can try, though.
I can try to feel what you feel.
So, how are you?