The most painful thing is losing yourself loving someone too much, and forgetting you are special too.
Ernest Hemingway
What can be so special? What could possibly be underneath a fragile life that needs air to survive. Dare I muster up some cliche poster phrase that will either piss me off or heighten me just enough to exhale back to earth. Will I be enough for people to stay around or will they faint in the pursuit of my heart. I say faint. I say weary. I say deranged (in any form that implies). I say they’ll fight until their own life becomes far too much to balance an unnecessary burden. I say I don’t care to find out. I say I’ve seen it all.
And like that the song ends… oh wait it hasn’t. It’s still going, and now there’s a voice, singing. Words I cannot audibly make out but are there, far, but present. I can hear it.
And it’s still going! Oh how I love this, oh how I crave this feeling forever.
The real reason for not committing suicide is because you always know how swell life gets again after the hell is over.
Ernest Hemingway
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