A glimpse inside my mind

As I'm writing this, the rain is ticking on my window. Somewhere down the street people are busy with roadwork. The wind is blowing leaves past my window and shaking the trees. It’s not quiet, but it’s peaceful. 

My room is dimly lit from the one blind I bothered to roll up. My desk is messy, books lying on every corner because I have no shelf space left anymore. Papers, documents, pens, even some candy wrappers, all lying there without order. Sometimes I would get a burst of energy and decide to clean it up, but when I get to my desk, my energy starts to drip away, my mind thinking it is pointless anyway because tomorrow it will look like this again. 

My guitar and my keyboard, standing in one corner, gathering dust because I don’t have inspiration to play. I don't even remember the last time I touched either of them. I remember the joy I felt when I played random notes, creating new tunes, or playing already existing songs. I remember the happiness that now seems so far away. 

How did I get here? In this bare, dark room that doesn’t even feel like mine. In this little village that feels so alien. I don’t belong here, I know I don’t, but where can I go? Where does one go who does not belong anywhere?

And how fast the time went by. How fast things have changed. I never felt comfortable with change. I always ask myself “Why is everything constantly changing? Why can’t some things stay the same? Forever. It’s not perfect, but it’s great. Don’t let it change.” But there is nothing in my power to stop change. People come and people go, just like the seasons. You blink, and the summer is over, the icy cold bruising your cheeks. And you can’t do anything except move along, go with the change. It’s inevitable. 

And yet, as I’m writing this, hearing the rain, feeling the cold claim my feet, I can’t help but wonder why it is the way it is. 

Why do the leaves fall when it gets cold? Why does the sun go away when the dark comes? Are they, like me, not strong enough to survive the never-ending suffering that life brings? But no, every spring, the trees are full of leaves again. Every day the sun comes back, stronger than before. Like a phoenix rising up from the ashes of yesterday, ready to best whatever life will throw at it.

Everything is changing. Everything has changed, and yet it’s all the same. Life is like a circle. You start at one point, and as you go, you inevitably return to the same point. How pointless it is, this circle of life. How ironic. 

It’s hard to remember how I used to navigate in this silly little body on this silly little planet. It’s hard to remember, now that I’m older. Now that I can see the inevitable. You live, and then you don’t. Just like that. As if the artist stopped painting your figure on an immense, lively canvas. Just one speck less than before, barely noticeable. 

And as I’m writing this, sitting in the middle of my dimly lit room, I wonder why it is the way it is. 

Why does the river keep on running, knowing it will reach the end before its waves can break on the shores? Why does the heart keep on beating, when all it wants to do is cry? How come all things in life move on, while I am getting more and more behind? Don’t leave me here, I beg of you, do not abandon my poor soul. I know it's beaten, I know it’s broken, but does it not deserve another chance? 

Another chance at life, perhaps. Another chance at happiness. I swear I have not given up on hope. I hope with all my heart. 

I hope for better days ahead. I hope for suffering to end. But most of all, I hope that you are happy, even if I’m not the reason. I hope you found everything you’ve always wanted, I hope life’s everything you’ve dreamed about. 

I hope that, once in a while, you’ll think of me, as I often think of you, with the fondest memories, but also with an ache inside your heart. I hope you realize you lost me, just as much as I lost you. I hope you know that you can find me, if only your heart would desire it. 

And as I’m writing this, hoping with my bleeding heart for you to find me, I can’t help but wonder why it is the way it is. 

Why did we have to lose each other? Why weren’t we strong enough to survive? Why did things have to change, as they always do, why couldn’t we stay the same? 

I lost you, and with you, I lost all things. All things that give life meaning, that make the world seem beautiful. Now all I have are these empty questions, and eyes that see the world in black and white. 

I don’t know anything anymore, and I am oh so tired of life. This room, that isn’t mine but is, feels impossibly small. I feel the pressure on my chest, I feel a hand closing my throat. 

Then, out of nowhere, I feel something on my shoulder. A bird, a mighty raven, as black as the sky outside my window, is sitting on my shoulder. The rain has stopped, but who is left to care? 

‘Everything is changing.’

I curse these words, but it is futile. They already transformed into knives and lodged themselves in my heart. 

‘And yet you’ve stayed the same, I see,’ I say, looking at the man before me. Yes, a man, 'cause aren’t we all?

‘It’s time to go, my child,’ he says, green eyes piercing mine, ‘you’ve suffered enough.’

‘Where I come from we call it living, maybe you should try it sometime.’

The man before me laughs and sits down in front of me.

‘Put down your pencil and your pad. We have a long journey ahead of us.’ He gently wipes away a tear from my cheek. 

‘How do I know I’m ready?’ I whisper in the air. My hands begin to tremble. How fast things have changed. But who am I to challenge change?

‘Don’t be afraid of change, my child. Take my hand, I’ll show you how beautiful change is. Change is an old friend of mine, let me introduce him to you.’ The man in front of me smiles a little, and somehow I’m at ease. 

I take Death’s hand, now unafraid, and follow him outside. The sky is blue, no cloud in sight, and suddenly I understand. 

I follow Death, no longer wondering why it is the way it is.