THE BEGINNING // THE END.

Lo and behold here I am, yet again sitting in a room filled with silence and emptiness with only the voice of my heart, the clicking of my keys, the creaking of the fan and the screams of my wrecked heart. 

For hours I sit in silence hoping that the day comes when this ordeal ends, this pain stops and I cease to exist. Now this is not something that is new, but a long desire of mine that leaves me sleepless at nights when I start to jot down these funny feelings only until they get the best of me.

Every single day I feel as if death tempts me, living is so hard and death? Just a simple step away. And no matter how absurd it seems or how convenient to you that how I’m finding a short cut from the pain rather than facing it head first, I also have to say that no matter how many motivational quotes I read or motivational speeches I hear, they have their high that lasts for such a small amount of time that I feel withdrawals for a longer period. And when I, for once, really think of why people are afraid to die, I fail to see why is it that makes them cling to materialistic things so much. If death comes to me today, this instance while I am writing this passage of my inner intertwined thoughts that are almost too hard to untangle I would not be afraid. I do not fear death, neither the grim reaper nor the pain that it brings. I have realized that I for one do not care for my life, now as a reader you can take that part two ways a.) as a materialistic person you would probably close this rubbish that you’re reading and call me nothing but an impudent liar or b.) as a writer, poet or dreamer you would congratulate me for my liberation from this conniving world and wish me luck for the future. I do not hold any harsh feelings for those that feel the former mentioned way and neither favor the latter ones because we need materialistic people to remind the poets and the writers sometimes of an alternate reality and need the crazy ‘I don’t care about the money, head in the sky’ dreamers about what they’re not missing. The bottom line is we need both the type of people to keep a balance in this world. If the world was full of dreamy eyed writers and poets we’d probably be dead in the first month or so because no one would care enough to grow the crops, feed the animals instead we’d all be sitting on a piece of garment watching sunsets, or below the night sky watching the stars writing sonnets and rhymes about how we want to make a difference, about love, about the beauty of everything around us and die the next morning. On the other hand, if the world consisted of only money minded realists, there’d be no art, no literature, no movies, no fiction, only documentaries about a fat rich bloke who brought another industrial revolution. A reality with only the education that mattered like doctrine, engineering, law, business etc., and even though the world would run, crops would be grown only to be sold later, animals would be fed only to be chopped later, that world would be a dull place with no one to love and no love to love back, no one would kiss, no one would hug, only sex would be sold like it is being today. And I paint these very unlike yet real images in your head so that if you’re someone in the middle you’d choose and if you’re not afraid to die, not afraid to lose any ‘thing’, then you know where you belong. I know where I belong and by the looks of it now you as a reader know it too.

I do not know where I stand or where I would be in the future yet the only thing I ask from God or the higher spirit that is above us is that I am happy. I know that happiness is a farfetched and much complicated thing, not something that I can wish for on shooting stars or 11:11s and yet, even after knowing this, it doesn’t stop me from wishing it every time I see a 11:11.

There’s a saying that I am a firm believer of it goes “you only live once? False. You live every day; you only die once.” And even though the original source is unknown to me, I don’t know why but this quote opens my eyes time to time and it fills me with a little resentment of having lived most of my life not on my terms. Maybe it is that I long for being born a day, watch the sunrise, sleep through the afternoons, watch the sunset, write non-stop about the beauty and serenity that surrounds me, the love people show, how less certain things matter, then lie on fresh grass throughout the night watching the heavenly bodies in the night sky, the melancholic patterns they make and then die and be reborn before the sunrise and restart the day, I don’t mind for the repetition of it, a life a day is better than a small eternity without even knowing the time of our death, growing through the pain, the hardships, the longevity of it all and then be reborn only God knows after how long to live yet another insignificant eternity going through it all over again. Tell me now, would you rather settle for the repetition, a life a day or an eternity living through the pain uninformed of when your time’s simply up.