Why? Why would I even want to kill myself again? I’m dead. Way back then, I was dead and cremated and mourned upon. Mourned upon? Not sure, but yet. Everybody was given a chance. Why would I push myself through it again? Not necessary. I am not planning to end my already ended life. Its pointless. And I, of all people, dont do pointless things. Its the self righteousness and rationalism overpowering me. Sometimes, overthrowing the ‘power’ itself. Every broken element around you laments and begs for your mercy. To attend to it and fix its broken pieces. But a broken glass never complains. Or may be its screams for help are lost unheard in the shattering itself. Its ‘broken’. There’s not a fix to it. Perhaps, the glass is wiser to know its fate by itself, a step ahead than the onlookers.
I may not be the broken glass. Often, glasses are broken by me. Broken remains broken always and knows its state for itself. Nobody can help anything about it. Coz in the end, its just broken. And shattered! Dont try to pick up the pieces. Every one of them has a sharp edge, to cut through you and drip your blood till the last drop of it. Dont touch. I aint any blood thirsty vampire!
I’m different. Unique. The most. I’ve my ways. Seemingly indifferent yet simply different. Reasons to die. To quit. To put off the light. Everyone has it. What’s new if all I have are the same? I’ve MY reasons. Reasons not to live. Not to live means death? Essentially, it has such an implication. But no such definite meaning to it. My reasons are the ones that tell me why I shouldn’t live every other moment of my life, dragging me through the very same life.
Shove those reasons down my throat. Tell me why I dont deserve living the moment, every single moment of life. Because, I am not dying anymore. Not again! Not without reasons! Rather, not with reasons ‘not’ to live.