I've thought about death before, many times. You know, which way hurts the most and which is the most peaceful. And, how will I die? Where? When?
I've even thought about suicide. Quite often, actually. I've never actually considered it, just thought. I don't completely understand why someone would ever want to kill him or herself, or why he or should would be able to go through with the act. On the other hand, I do understand the why part, at least, I do lately. Sometimes it just seems like it would be so much easier to end it and not have to live in so much pain. It's this internal pain that brings the thought, not the physical pain. Times like this make me think about these things, these horrible things.
Without you here, I feel this complete emptiness. It's one of those pains deep inside you that you cannot simply get rid of. I think it stays forever. This one doesn't feel like it will ever go away. And if it at least fades, it will only fade to the backround and linger on until my heart stops beating.
And now, do you see why the pondering of death and suicide come about for me? I do not know how to go on with this dark, burning abyss in my chest. In simpler terms, I do not know how to live without you. After years, decades, of life with you, how can I?
Ending this life would mean an end to this complete and utter misery. It would be a doorway to a far less gruesome universe. Even if heaven and hell do not exist above and below this very body my soul inhibits; even if souls are just figments of our imagination therefore having no where to travel after death, death seems like it would be better than this immortal pain.
It hurts. It immobilizes. It kills. And I never thought this day would come, you being gone and all. You know I am no poet, my love, but the feelings inside pour out of me like a waterfall of colors. Each color a different emotion bursting out. If only I saw colors anymore. Too many have thrust themselves from me into the rapids of my rainbow waterfall, only to leave me now with a world of gray hues.
Once I saw color, I did, just like everyone else. But my world has warped and twisted in this mess. Yes, love, my eyes have transformed in order to make sense of this colorless hell. Which, may I add, is worse than the bright burning fury so often depicted in art as the devil's home. This dull, everlasting underworld doesn't offer and kind of physically painful retreat from the burning, imploding ache in my chest. Physical pain would distract me, and would be much more bearable. It provides no excruciating distractions from my inner turmoil, instead leaving me subject to thought.
I don't mean to guilt you, dear, only to explain. I am not trying to provoke sympathy or sadness from you, quite the opposite. I am trying to say goodbye. But in order to do so, I have to let go of all the baggage I have been holding on to. I have not wanted to let go, but at this point, when contemplating suicide has become ritual, I see that I must. I cannot go on living without coming to terms that our relationship is over, for now, until we meet again, if we ever do. As the song "Landslide," by Fleetwood Mac, says, "I've been afraid of changin' cuz I've built my life around you." The infrastructure of my life has been designed for you, not me alone. I have been petrified of the consequences I might encounter if I live without you. The walls might collapse, the roof may cave in, the streets will probably crack, and the foundation will bulge. The support beams will crumble or melt, the buildings will be left as piles of crumbs being swept here and there by the wind. The oceans will be tempestuous, clouds gray and crying, lightening striking. The gods angered by the misuse of my own little world, furious that I built it for you, but use it, instead, for other things. And I'm afraid that in that perishing world, up in the devastated sky, all I will see is my heart breaking, being punctured, ripped, tugged, smushed, dripping, and the drops of blood turning into the clear rain drops which then turn into my own tears. My world was not built over these years to work without you, dear. For that, I am afraid. I am afraid of facing the future without you by my side, right where you always have been, to help me through any troubles I might stumble into.
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I've even thought about suicide. Quite often, actually. I've never actually considered it, just thought. I don't completely understand why someone would ever want to kill him or herself, or why he or should would be able to go through with the act. On the other hand, I do understand the why part, at least, I do lately. Sometimes it just seems like it would be so much easier to end it and not have to live in so much pain. It's this internal pain that brings the thought, not the physical pain. Times like this make me think about these things, these horrible things.
Without you here, I feel this complete emptiness. It's one of those pains deep inside you that you cannot simply get rid of. I think it stays forever. This one doesn't feel like it will ever go away. And if it at least fades, it will only fade to the backround and linger on until my heart stops beating.
And now, do you see why the pondering of death and suicide come about for me? I do not know how to go on with this dark, burning abyss in my chest. In simpler terms, I do not know how to live without you. After years, decades, of life with you, how can I?
Ending this life would mean an end to this complete and utter misery. It would be a doorway to a far less gruesome universe. Even if heaven and hell do not exist above and below this very body my soul inhibits; even if souls are just figments of our imagination therefore having no where to travel after death, death seems like it would be better than this immortal pain.
It hurts. It immobilizes. It kills. And I never thought this day would come, you being gone and all. You know I am no poet, my love, but the feelings inside pour out of me like a waterfall of colors. Each color a different emotion bursting out. If only I saw colors anymore. Too many have thrust themselves from me into the rapids of my rainbow waterfall, only to leave me now with a world of gray hues.
Once I saw color, I did, just like everyone else. But my world has warped and twisted in this mess. Yes, love, my eyes have transformed in order to make sense of this colorless hell. Which, may I add, is worse than the bright burning fury so often depicted in art as the devil's home. This dull, everlasting underworld doesn't offer and kind of physically painful retreat from the burning, imploding ache in my chest. Physical pain would distract me, and would be much more bearable. It provides no excruciating distractions from my inner turmoil, instead leaving me subject to thought.
I don't mean to guilt you, dear, only to explain. I am not trying to provoke sympathy or sadness from you, quite the opposite. I am trying to say goodbye. But in order to do so, I have to let go of all the baggage I have been holding on to. I have not wanted to let go, but at this point, when contemplating suicide has become ritual, I see that I must. I cannot go on living without coming to terms that our relationship is over, for now, until we meet again, if we ever do. As the song "Landslide," by Fleetwood Mac, says, "I've been afraid of changin' cuz I've built my life around you." The infrastructure of my life has been designed for you, not me alone. I have been petrified of the consequences I might encounter if I live without you. The walls might collapse, the roof may cave in, the streets will probably crack, and the foundation will bulge. The support beams will crumble or melt, the buildings will be left as piles of crumbs being swept here and there by the wind. The oceans will be tempestuous, clouds gray and crying, lightening striking. The gods angered by the misuse of my own little world, furious that I built it for you, but use it, instead, for other things. And I'm afraid that in that perishing world, up in the devastated sky, all I will see is my heart breaking, being punctured, ripped, tugged, smushed, dripping, and the drops of blood turning into the clear rain drops which then turn into my own tears. My world was not built over these years to work without you, dear. For that, I am afraid. I am afraid of facing the future without you by my side, right where you always have been, to help me through any troubles I might stumble into.
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