IF ONLY I could not exist.
She sighs, letting the forlorn certainty nestle in the center of her chest, in the heart of her soul. Exhaustion gnaws at her bones. Dryness scours her throat; at every swallow of her saliva her mouth feels conspicuously empty. She can feel the rigid outlines of her teeth.
It is incredible, to be so aware of the smallest things: her teeth, her uselessness, her smarting sleep-deprived eyes.
The simplicity is delicious. If she could find a way to dismantle her existence, why, imagine the possibilities! Imagine the future of her loved ones! They would be free! Happy! Fulfilled! It would be her greatest joy. And wouldn’t that be best?
Written: 17 Sept 2015
A/N: I’d forgotten that I wrote this. Or, more specifically, that I felt this way enough to write this and believe it. I can’t say I completely disbelieve it, but re-reading it before I posted it… It surprised me at how sad it seemed. But yeah, the last few months I’ve been going through variant stages of thoughts/feelings like this. Not all the same exactly but different types of lethargy, dislike, or disinterest. But it was still surprising reading this, so that might be good?