There’s no direct way of living, believing. And maybe the way they wanted to ease the pain of believing that. When you die. You just die. Bare. And who would want to believe that kind of rush? Maybe they’d say the afterlife exists, because they couldn’t stand that. Fuck, that was just it. That was all. And that fact that you were built, meant that you had to fall apart, well. You had to one day. Was the idea. And sure, maybe you won’t die. Not entirely, you will always exist was the other idea. The central frame that we couldn’t just die. No, no. Not like that. Not like this. Because we want to be invincible like how conceivable it was for them to say, “Teenagers always think they are invincible” with the smirks on their faces to conclude we’re too weak to know of our own whereabouts. And there’s no denying we can. And do. Hell, even I know it. 

But that’s what we are. That’s what we should do. That way, there’s hope. Because nothing can stem off of nothing. You must believe it, right? And maybe as they got old they forgot if you were going to survive, you couldn’t just walk in there vulnerable. Or at least, believe you were. They say it in a way of envy, that they envy how invincible we lead ourselves to believe we are, or can be. Will be, have to be. I think different peer groups underestimate each other so much, we forget. We forget how to hold on to the precious. And that everything had to be central around small talk and those conceivable questions about this clusterfuck of shit that I do not care about. I’m not good at it. So I didn’t talk to them, I never wanted to talk to them. 

All I did was look at them, because the only thing even remotely close to being fascinating in by being in their presence was not the shit they spoke that I had absolutely no interest it. I just wondered if a generation from now, if I don’t make it, and the successive that won’t reach into my life, and them instead. Would they look down on me. Would we be the same levels, apart from what they wish from you the countless hours of shit they want you to drown yourselves in, how I would rather die than let them run me, but then I think about it. Maybe I have to anyway, but not always. And maybe one day I’d get sick of it and walk out of my little office box and jump off stories of buildings and infrastructure as people don’t really notice because they’re in depth with their work so they get paid for their family for their life for how untimely it was for them not to know I’m going to die. And I’m going to pass away. Would I just die, and that was the end. We go back to the same question as the original topic. Would I just die, and be that guy who couldn’t sustain life in doing loads of nothing for made paper from trees that make you live in the natural, so you could make it somewhere in the unnatural.

That has always been the question I found myself asking. Would I let myself. Or would I let myself go, and be free into the death of a bit of nothing. To cease to exist, but maybe just momentarily before they remember I let myself pass, and then it all goes on again. You began at zero, you lived, you died, at zero. Do you even remember when it reached a higher number. As we try to reach it. Perhaps I missed it. And I’m fine the way it is now. And that it’d be fine to let myself go now, there wouldn’t be an issue in it.

But all there is now is that if I go, my loved ones would always ask the question, that I’ve asked, and no. You must not let your loved ones ask the questions you have asked. So, I let myself live on.