I want to lay me down in the wet, squishy mud and let the moisture seep into my bones, the cold engulf me, numbing every nerve, blocking every vein…till the blood stops running, the breath slows down…slower…slower…slower. I wish life wouldn’t snap on and off like it usually does but just slow down like a pendulum, patience infinite, nowhere to go, nothing to finish….and never stop in the reality of science but keep moving miniscule, gaining stillness instead of speed. Isn’t dying the reverse of life after all?
I wonder why that’s considered depressing. It is such a peaceful, becalming thought. I’ve been called suicidal before but am I really, I wonder? Suicidal is when depression overcomes you and there seems to be no way to get out of one’s predicament. I on the other hand, am experiencing this feeling of everything being in its right place, of having done all that I need to do…and of waiting. Just waiting for whatever comes next.
I crack open my fortune cookie for the day online and it shows me the same one as yesterday’s. Even mild irritation no longer present, I refresh the page. And I get this:
🙂 It ain’t suicidal if I’m laughing, which I am. However, the wise one said,
Take your death with some gravity though. The lesser mortals may not be able to understand your laughing your way to your grave.