Remember when you thought you had cancer? When you told yourself you had cancer?
You found lumps. Your testicles. Your arms. Your ribcage.
You had pain. Mystery pain. For years. That time at the bar in the afternoon right after graduation.
This is your world as you've created it.
You think you're going to die?
Then die.
You want to die?
Then die.
You want to live?
Then live.
You've been existing, half in and half out of this world.
It's the way you like it, despite how unhappy you are.
But you don't know how to go all in.
Everything seems unreal. No matter what you do. Why?
Why?
I don't like this. Is it different than what everyone else experiences?
I don't know.
There is no way to know.
I keep trying. But only half way.
It feels like all the way. But it's not. It can't be.
I don't know where I am. Or where I should be.
I don't know who I am. Or what I am, or am to be.
That's the appeal of death.
It provides the answer. Then I'll know.
But it'll have to wait.
YOU ARE READING
Conversations with...
General FictionI have voices, in my head, they are talking, known only by letter, about a life I might once have had. I don't want them to stop. Not until they show me the way.
