As I sit here on the edge, trying to work up the courage to take that final plunge, that final breath to extinguish the flame, I can’t help but wonder how I got here. In a moment of stunning clarity, I try to trace the chain of events that has led me to this place. Was it a steady build up, a culmination of life lessons that weren’t learned, or a sudden, tragic catastrophe? I can’t really tell. As far back as I can remember I’ve felt that life really isn’t worth living beyond those moments where you connect with another, and in a blaze of glory rise above the dark, perverted show that is the lives we lead. The problem with being a flame, is that you must eventually consume everything around you, and flicker out. My purpose, my reason for existing is love, pure and simple. I live for it, I breathe for it, and without it, without a way to satiate this consuming NEED for it, I consume, I suffocate, and I’m extinguished. And I’m fine with that. I would rather live 23 years a flame than one moment in the darkness. It’s strange how when you come to terms with your morality, with your own insignificance, how absolutely calm you become. In the cosmic view, I’m a collection of different elements, so configured as to be blessed (read cursed) with higher cognitive functions. I ask what the point is to all the progress man has made when it can’t keep us happy, keep the will to live ALIVE. What is the purpose of technology and science if we still require something as primal and basic as love? What has modern medicine done to cure the insanity that being completely enveloped in another human being is? Why must we be so self destructive? Why must we destroy each other at all? The concept of universal love is shit, there will always be those that hate, for one reason or another. As I step nearer to the precipice and peer into the void, I take one final collection of my senses. Touch, sight, sound, smell, taste, none of them quite reach the level of all encompassing passion and focus that emotion does. Am I simply chemically imbalanced, or enlightened to the importance of such emotion? If feelings are just an ideal of the mind, how can they have such a physiological effect? Why is it I can only feel beautiful when filled with suicidal depression? This is the anthem to my life, why, if, how, who, unprovable proofs and equations, spawned from a very troubled mind. So many questions, and so few answers. There has been no existence outside what’s inside my head, and this is the ONLY thing that has been proven over and over. This is me more or less speaking to myself, you beautiful and disastrous people. Find and fill yourselves with as much love as you can. I love you.
I finally found someone worth loving, but I wasn’t enough to be worth theirs. Life sucks like that.
God dammit I miss everything so fucking much and I’m falling apart and it doesn’t matter at all.
My life is a series of unfulfilled goals. Am I cool yet?