was this morning when you were already thinking of ending it, or is this the first time thinking of them made death less certain?
To My Love
Thought
Thought
was this morning when you were already thinking of ending it, or is this the first time thinking of them made death less certain?
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I spent years believing that living was merely matter learning, at an excruciatingly slow pace, how to decay. Love always walked a few steps ahead of me, like a courteous stranger who never intended to knock upon my door. Within this rusted carcass, what people insist on calling a soul has become nothing more than a warehouse of rust, nicotine, and memories that refused the privilege of oblivion.
There are mornings when even the sun feels like an ancient mistake stubbornly repeating itself. Waking is usually no more than another silent defeat at the hands of the night. Nothing persuades me that there is any meaning in continuing to breathe when time itself feeds upon everything it loves to destroy.
And yet, today, the absurd was quietly betrayed.
Before the world could remind me of the burden of existence, I thought of you.
It was a fleeting thought, almost timid, yet enough to throw my despair into disarray. Not because it restored hope—for hope has always struck me as a luxury invented by those who have never stared into the void for long enough—but because, for a single moment, life ceased to be merely a sentence and became a question.
Perhaps that is your greatest gift: not to save anyone, but simply to make a man who had long regarded himself as a ruin hesitate, if only for a few seconds, before once again calling death the only certainty
Thoughts
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love as a courteous stranger who never intended to knock. that image. does it feel like it finally knocked, or is it still standing outside?
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the absurd quietly betrayed. that moment of things shifting because of one person. i felt that.
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was this morning when you were already thinking of ending it, or is this the first time thinking of them made death less certain?
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I have sat with people looking at that void for a long time. What you are saying is true: not that someone saves you, but that they make you hesitate.
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when you think of them now does it still feel the same or has it changed
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the warehouse of rust and nicotine. why nicotine specifically? i mean i get it but also why that thing and not something else?
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a fleeting thought, almost timid. that image stayed.
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I copied the line about life becoming a question into my notebook. That moment before the world reminds you of the burden. Have you felt that turn happen more than once, or was this the first time it shifted like that?
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I spent years believing that living was merely matter learning, at an excruciatingly slow pace, how to decay. Love always walked a few steps ahead of me, like a courteous stranger who never intended…