I used to think about dying every day. But not exactly thinking. And not exactly dying. I thought about dying everyday in the same way you think about living every day just by breathing. Just by eating and drinking. You do those things just to continue to exist. And similarly at the back of my mind, for everything I did, for every joy and every pain and every excitement and boredom, there was always one question. Why? It's easier to forget to ask why when you're happy. Or at least forget to care. But it never truly leaves you. And at night when all your physical needs have been met except for sleep, it's the only thought left in my head. Why? Why am I here? Why can't I just be sucked into my bed like the rest of my dead skin and hair. Just cease to exist. Why can't I go to sleep and just live there. Not in dreams or nightmares. The time after your eyes shut and your brain flickers off but before your imagination begins. Where you don't exist to the world and the world doesn't exist to you. There's no pain and no joy and no future stretching out in front of you and past weighing you down. As nothing as the space between the stars hanging in the night sky. Eternal and stateless.
No comments:
Post a Comment