I’ve been thinking. I’m tired, but I can’t decide whether it’s a physical exhaustion or mental or both. But…I’ve been thinking…about death…about being gone…about being physically nonexistent.
I wonder if I want to be missed, if I want to be gone, if I want to be absent when my mother calls my name to do the laundry, to wash the dirty wishes…Do I want to be gone and not be there to answer her, to tell her I love her, to tell her having me was worth it?
I’m walking down an empty, dark street and I’m wondering about tomorrow and the day after that. I know I have too much to do, too much to live for, too much to write, too much to say, but I’m allowing my mind to think about this concept of death, this eternal absence…But why? Is it because I’m tired of waiting?
So after a lot of thinking, contemplating, wondering, questioning, I decide that I don’t want to be missed. They, those who know me, will miss me. I will miss me, won’t I?
It’s a quiet night and I’ve done all my talking already…
Go to sleep, the voice inside my head says, you’re tired…