I see you. Spiraling downwards. Trying your best to find something to hold onto. Nothing. Trying to assure yourself that this time it won’t be bad. Nothing, for even you you know that its going to be worse than you imagine.
You wish there is something you could do about this hurtling down that your whole being is undergoing. But you know that even though wishes at times do come true, it isn’t always at your beck and call.
You. You wish people lived life with more than themselves. Because you are not enough for yourself. You have fallen short too many times in a bid to help yourself. Some people seem to have their lives together by themselves, yours always seems undone. Its like you were made beautifully weak.
Its the beautiful ones that die. They said. But for once you don’t want death. What’s the use of it to you anyway? Dead people hear nothing, tell nothing, see nothing, experience nothing.
You want life. But what they didn’t tell you, is that its easier to want death, than to want life.
You want to live. Its such a simple need. Yet you don’t have it. You are not alive. Well, technically you are. But your soul is on a deathbed. Neither dead nor alive.
You mourn for it. You cry for it when a fly steps on you. You weep for it when a call isn’t picked up. You wail for it when the song that you can’t even relate to ends with such beautiful violin. You wipe your tears when anyone speaks a good word over your life.
But tears don’t reawaken souls. They don’t heal souls. They can’t call your name and bring you back to life.
So you live. A life with no life in it. You laugh at savage jokes. You do what needs to be done. You robot yourself out of your days. But still…